


A Fragile Life

by Isabella2004



Category: Deadwood
Genre: Angst, Cholera, F/M, Miscarriage, Romance, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24681322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isabella2004/pseuds/Isabella2004
Summary: With Al distracted by the imminent arrival of George Hearst to the camp, Catherine makes an unlikely new friend. But when events suddenly spiral out of control and he's faced with the loss of the most important person in his life, Al finds himself in the darkest place imaginable.Sequel to 'Hell of A Place'.
Relationships: Al Swearengen/OC
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to my previous story 'Hell of a Place.'  
> Once again, this story loosely follows events in the show but dates and other issues may differ.

June 30th 1876

As the sun slowly set over the camp, long shadows of light crept across the room from one end to the other, dancing across the floor, the furniture and momentarily lingering on the bed. As the evening rays touched his skin, he felt their warmth and could almost have imagined himself being anywhere but that room. In that moment he could see her, standing on the balcony, laughing, shielding her eyes from the glare, her hair an unending cascade of fire that he ached to feel fall through his fingers.

But the superficial warmth of his imagination was no match for the harsh iciness of his reality.

Al got to his feet, muscles protesting at movement after so many hours of sedition. "Now comes the fucking hour."

"I beg of you, Al…please do not do this." Al looked over at where Doc sat, dark circles under his eyes from hours of wakefulness, his hands clasped in front of him almost in prayer. "You may not think it now, but you will regret this."

"What I regret…" Al began and then broke off. There were so many things that he regretted. Things he had done, things he hadn't done. Words he had said, words he hadn't said. "What I regret is that it has come to this without my being able to prevent it."

"Then don't." Doc stood up and walked around the bed to stand in front of him. "Don't add to a lifetime to regret. You will have to face yourself in the mirror every day after knowing that there was no need for this."

"No need? You think I can let this pass without exacting vengeance?"

"I think you will be directing your vengeance at the wrong person. And you will be harming someone who has never meant any harm, especially not to her."

"And yet there she fucking lies," Al gestured carelessly behind him, unable to look back. "I will have my fucking vengeance, Doc."

"She wouldn't want this," Doc persisted, moving in front of him again. "You know her, how good and kind and caring she is…she wouldn't want this…"

"Right now, I don't give a fuck what she'd want," Al said, his voice tight. "She deliberately defied me on this and look what happened. Perhaps if she had listened to me then all of this may have been avoided."

"I don't believe you. You do give a fuck and if she was able to, she would tell you that this isn't right!"

Al closed his eyes briefly, willing himself not to strike his friend. There was only one person worthy of his blows and they were not in the room. "Stay with her," he said finally. "If this be God's will…stay with her. Don't leave her on her fucking own."

"No, you stay with her," Doc stepped in front of him again. "Stay with her, Al. The vows you took were of little consequence to you, I'm sure, but you have an obligation to stay with her until…" he swallowed hard, "until the obligation exists no more."

Al turned and looked back at the bed. There was a part of him that knew Doc was right. That his duty lay in this room and not the one downstairs. And yet vengeance, retribution, comeuppance…all words he could not stop hearing spoken in his head.

Then, like the message he had been waiting for, the door opened and Silas appeared. His face was ashen white, his eyes red as though he had been crying and his voice trembled slightly when he spoke. "Ready when you are, boss."

It was all the encouragement he needed, the sign that what he was about to do was the right thing. That God, or whatever entity there be to meet him at the gates of Heaven or Hell, would understand. He paid no further heed to Doc's continued protestations, moved past Silas and hurried along the balcony, down the stairs and into the whores' room. Slamming the door closed, he turned to face his hostage. Every nerve in his body was tingling with the anticipation, the expectation, of what he was about to do. He had never killed in anyone else's name before save his own. Never killed for any other purpose than to serve himself. This would be the first time, and it would give him no pleasure, for the act once done would not change the terrible outcome awaiting him upstairs.

He could feel his heart thudding in his chest as he took a step forward and she began begging. At least, he assumed she was begging. Her incoherent ramblings in a language he didn't understand only served to increase his anger. The stupid, fucking, Chink bitch was about to get what was coming to her. A life for a life. One meaningless to him, the other, the most important next to his own. He watched as Dan and Johnny exchanged a look over her head as they held an arm each, preventing her from the obvious flight. He knew they weren't sure this was the right thing to do, unconvinced it was the answer. Of course it wasn't the answer. There was no answer, there was only this.

Reaching into the waistband of his pants, he pulled out his knife and advanced towards her. Her pleas grew louder, more high pitched, almost screams as her eyes darted between him and the blade he now wielded.

"Boss…" Dan said nervously.

"Shut up, Dan."

"But…"

Tears were streaming from her eyes, her body shaking, sweat causing her thin dress to stick to her body...all things that he had had to watch someone else far more important to him go through over the last few days. Seeing she who had caused it seemingly suffer the same only served to make him even angrier. Al's fist swung out and cracked her across the jaw, causing her to scream and lurch to one side. Then, he reached out and grabbed her chin, pressing the tip of the blade against her windpipe, forcing her to look at him, to see the anger and pain he knew would be reflected in his eyes. Could she ever possibly understand from the emotions she would see there what she had done?

Al Swearengen didn't give a shit. He just wanted his eyes to be the last thing she would ever see.


	2. Chapter 2

June 18th 1876

Twelve days earlier

Deadwood sizzled.

Mid June, and the temperature had soared so high of late that steam rose from the thoroughfare and the smell of Wu's pigs permeated the air with an aroma so unappetising that the Chinaman had to be losing money on sales of meat.

Catherine Swearengen lay in the bathtub that she had had Johnny and Dan carry up to the office from the whores' room and place in the middle of the floor. The water was as cold as she had been able to stand without dangerously freezing her limbs and though it offered respite, she had also thrown open the balcony doors to the thoroughfare, caring not who might see her from the nearby hotel.

As she lay with her arms draped over the sides and her head lolling back, she thought about how appreciative she was of her lot. Downstairs, the girls were fucking the same way as they would if there were ten feet of snow on the ground. She had made sure that their rooms were as well ventilated as possible and had let the boys know in no uncertain terms that breaks would be required if they wished functioning whores. But eventually, she had capitalised on her station, hence the relief of the bathtub.

The noise from the thoroughfare outside hid the sound of approaching footsteps and suddenly, she felt soft fingers brush against her leg. A slow smile spread across her face as they danced over her skin and then dipped between her thighs, moving slowly across her pelvis to her mound and then sliding gently through the curls to press insistently against her opening. Instinctively, she parted her thighs more and gave a small shudder as one finger sought out and found her passageway.

"That better be who I fucking think it is," she laughed softly. "I open my eyes and find one of the boys and there's going to be hell to pay." Her visitor said nothing but one finger, followed by another, pushed further inside her, a thumb slowly circling her nub, causing her to groan. Lips gently touched the side of her neck, followed by teeth nibbling at her skin, tracing a visible journey across her throat and down her chest where she found herself arching out of the tub, her breasts rising above the water line, allowing a hot mouth to close over her left nipple and bite it deliciously. With eyes still closed, she reached up to place a hand on the head of her ravisher and was instantly gratified by the unmistakable curls at the nape of his neck. Forcing him up from her breast to her mouth, she smiled as the edges of his moustache tickled her skin and opened her mouth to receive his enquiring tongue "Make me come," she whispered when breath came to her again.

"I fully fucking intend to," Al Swearengen replied, "but you'll need to get out of that fucking tub. Ain't as young as I used to be and doubt I could hold my fucking weight."

Catherine opened her eyes and looked up into the face of her husband. His countenance registered barely restrained desire, yet his eyes were soft, the way she had noticed they always were whenever he looked upon her of late. Pushing herself up to her feet, she stepped out of the bathtub and stood dripping in front of him, watching as his eyes traced the contours of her naked body.

"Don't be a fucking tease," he murmured, gesturing to their bed. "Get over there." She did as she was bidden, scurrying past the open balcony doors and throwing herself onto the bed. "Eager as a fucking whore," Al observed with obvious satisfaction as he walked over to the far side.

"Neglected and needy is more fucking like it," Catherine replied, pulling herself up onto her knees and facing him. "Most days and nights of late have found you too fatigued to even contemplate fucking me." She reached out and began undoing the buttons on his duds. "A wife gets lonely, especially when her day to day living sees her encouraging others in the sexual act."

"I've been busy," Al replied, "and in case you've forgotten, it was only a mere eight weeks ago that someone not too far away from me in this room stuck a knife in my fucking guts, rendering me incapable of many fucking things!"

"I know," she acknowledged, his duds by now pulled down and the ugly scar all too visible. Red and angry, it taunted her somehow, a reminder of a terrible moment. One which she wished with all her heart she could change. She ran her fingers gently over it, trying to will away the image from her mind of Al collapsed against her, fighting for breath, the handle of the knife rigid in her hand.

"Melancholy don't fucking suit you," he said softly, a finger under her chin forcing her to look up at him. "Words already been said about all that with no need for more, understand?" She nodded. "Now, I'm as hard as a fucking rock, so why don't you unzip me there and see what you might find?"

Pushing away thoughts of the past, Catherine did as he suggested and, seconds later, he was unfurled in her hand, hot, hard and clearly in need of relief. He lowered himself down onto the bed and she felt him shudder as her lips closed around his shaft, his breath catch in his throat as she moved her mouth slowly along its length. Each time, she waited for the diatribe of words to spill forth from him. She had heard many stories from Dolly, and Kitty before she passed, about how much Al had enjoyed talking out the thoughts in his head as they sucked his prick. She had wondered what it would feel like, to be engaging in such an intimate act with a man whose mind was clearly elsewhere. And yet, it had never happened. Al barely said anything to her, save the odd instruction for her to go faster or slow her pace.

His fingers found their way into her hair, tangling her curls and pulling gently against the roots, an action which only served to excite her. She paused momentarily for breath and, looking up, met his gaze.

"I sometimes find myself perturbed that I make you do this," he said suddenly.

Catherine frowned, "Ain't as if you're forcing me," she said, running her hand along him.

"No…" he mused, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger. "But still…"

He held her gaze for a long moment and she tried to read the emotions beneath the surface, but they were closed off to her and she could only guess at his thinking. Without further encouragement, she returned to her task, licking, sucking and blowing until she could feel him twitch with the approaching onslaught of orgasm. She braced herself for him bursting forth in her mouth for, if the truth be told, she found the climax of the act less than appetising.

But before he could fill her mouth, he pulled her up and off of his prick, rolled her onto her back, forced her thighs apart and entered her before she even had time to breathe. A few short, sharp thrusts and she felt him spurt inside her, groaning into the crease of her neck as he did so. Then he collapsed on top of her, panting with the exertion. He lay there for a moment, allowing her to gently stroke the back of his neck, and then suddenly rolled over and off of her, back onto his feet.

"Stay," Catherine said, as he started buttoning himself up again.

"Work to be done," he replied.

"Like what? Everyone's busy downstairs doing what they need to be doing. You're meant to be in charge. Surely that gives you the right to a rest during the day?" she looked at him enticingly, wiling him to agree with her.

Al stared at her for a long moment, as though weighing up the pros and cons of each choice. Eventually, he climbed back on the bed beside her, pulled her close to him and kissed her.

"That's more fucking like it," she murmured, pleased at the victory. Too many times, when fucking had occurred, he had either fallen asleep or simply left her after his own needs had been satisfied, seemingly oblivious to her own. On those rare occasions where he remained alert and attentive by her side, she felt as though she saw the side of him he usually kept so deeply buried. The side of him that cared more for another than for himself. As he continued to kiss her, she took his hand and pulled it gently down between her thighs where she still needed attention.

Al looked at her, "You wanting something?" he asked.

"Mmmmm," she replied, guiding his fingers to her nub, "perhaps…" He skimmed gently over and around her, causing her body to start to contract deliciously.

"You fucking like that, don't you?" he teased.

She closed her eyes and pushed herself against him as he continued to work her, enjoying the feelings her body was producing, wanting desperately to feel the release she knew he could bring her.

"Boss? Boss!" Dan's voice sounded suddenly from the other side of the office door, causing Al to suddenly pull back.

"No…" Catherine moaned as the pleasurably sensations suddenly stopped. Opening her eyes, she saw Al was already on his feet, his duds re-buttoned and his pants back around his waist.

"Duty calls," he said, zipping up his pants.

"Every fucking time!" she exclaimed angrily.

"Shut your yap," Al said as he made his way to the office door. He opened it and Dan stepped inside, his eyes darting to where Catherine still lay on the bed, a simple sheet protecting her modesty. "News of Hearst?" Dan nodded. "Then let's take this downstairs." He turned back to look at his wife. "You, check on the girls and make sure they're doing what they should be doing."

"Fuck you," she replied irritably, but her rebuke was lost in the slamming of the door. She lay for a while, staring at the ceiling, listening to the noise from the thoroughfare and churning over her anger. She couldn't help but wish that for once, just once, Al would consider her more important than whatever fucking news Dan had to impart.

Finally, she got to her feet, dressed herself and wandered out onto the balcony, the midday heat hitting her square in the chest and causing her to draw in a dry breath. Shielding her eyes from the glare of the sunshine, she gazed out over the camp towards the graveyard on the hillside. Immediately, she felt a sharp pang of guilt. Her father had been dead four months and, in that time, her visits to his grave had been relatively infrequent. Consumed by her feelings for Al, and everything that had happened subsequently, her father had slipped to the back of her mind. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to change that.

As she made her way downstairs into the bar, she purposefully ignored Al, who was standing at the far end of the bar in deep conversation with Dan and Johnny, and made her way outside into the afternoon heat. Milly Lewis was on her flower stall, a rather pointless business enterprise given that the recent soar in temperature meant most things died almost instantly. There were some withered looking blooms that she purchased for a few coins, not wishing to visit the grave empty-handed. The sunshine beat down on her back as she started climbing the hill to the graveyard and, as she climbed higher, the air grew cooler, drying the sweat on her brow.

"Afternoon Daddy," she said as she reached her father's grave and laid the flowers down in front of it. Hitching up her skirts, she lowered herself onto the dry grass and gazed at the headstone bearing his name. "Sorry it's been so long since my last visit but things have been kind of busy lately. Guess you know I married Al…" she looked down at the ground, almost embarrassed. "Hope you don't think that it's fucking weird or….something, I…" she laughed. "Maybe it's best we don't talk about it, I don't know…"

"Good afternoon Mrs Swearengen."

Catherine swivelled her neck around at the sound of her name and, squinting in the light, saw Alma Ellsworth standing behind her, an equally pathetic bouquet of flowers in her own hand.

"Mrs Ellsworth," she got to her feet, brushing dust from her dress.

"I'm sorry," Alma said, "I didn't mean to disturb your private conversation…"

"Oh no, no," Catherine replied, "I was just…" she gestured back to the grave. "It's been a while since I've been here and I thought, on such a pleasant day…"

"I quite agree. And I find myself in a similar situation. I thought it only proper I visit my late husband's grave." Catherine followed her gaze over to the headstone that bore Brom Garrett's name. "Particularly in light of the good fortune I've had since his passing."

"Yes, I hear things are going very well at your diggings."

"I can't complain."

There was an awkward moment as both women looked at each other and Catherine wracked her brains for something to say to carry on the conversation.

"Well," Alma said suddenly, "I should perhaps carry out my purpose for coming here."

"Yes, of course," Catherine said, "it was…nice to talk to you."

"And you, Mrs Swearengen, good day."

Catherine sat back down in front of her father's grave and carried on her conversation in hushed tones, occasionally glancing up and over the headstone to where Alma simply stood in silence in front of her late husband's grave, still and stoic. "Daddy," she said, "that is one slightly fucking odd woman."

XXXX

Al was standing on the balcony as Catherine made her way back towards the Gem. He watched as she walked slowly down the thoroughfare, clearly lost in her own thoughts, pausing briefly only to let the stagecoach pass. As she drew nearer the saloon, she looked up and caught his gaze.

"One hopes your mood has improved somewhat," he called down to her.

"One really doesn't give a fuck, Al," she replied, her face expressionless, her gaze never faltering as she disappeared from view.

He moved from the balcony, back into his office and out onto the internal balcony in time to see her cross the floor over to the bar and down a shot that Johnny magically had waiting for her. Then she spoke briefly to Dolly before climbing the stairs towards him.

"I'll fuck you later," he said casually, as he leaned over the balcony.

"It ain't about the fucking, Al," she said as she passed him back into the office.

Sense told him to leave her when her mood was so piqued, but male bravado told him that his word should be the last. He turned and followed her, slamming the door behind him. "Your petted lip is really starting to fucking bore me."

"Fuck you," Catherine replied. "Your constant running every time Dan calls your name is really starting to fucking bore me. For some reason you think me incapable of being involved in anything beyond monitoring how the girls fuck. As long as you come, everyone else can just go to hell."

"So what irritated you more today?" he asked with mock concern. "The fact I left our bed before you came or the fact my conversation with Dan about Hearst was out with your hearing?"

"One and the same," she replied, moving over to his desk and taking out a bottle of whisky. She lifted it to her lips and drank it down, arousing him intently in the process. Then she re-corked it and put it back in the drawer. "You should be careful I don't decide to have my needs fulfilled elsewhere, sexually and otherwise."

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch. "And just who do you think would fulfil your needs in defiance of me?"

"I'm sure there must be someone in the camp who's not afraid of you," she replied, refusing to meet his gaze. "And even if there isn't, there's always Harry Manning."

"Harry Manning?" Al echoed with a laugh.

"He was more than eager to pursue me earlier in the year."

"I doubt that Harry Manning could satisfy you in any way." He moved over to where she was leaning against the desk and reached around her to open the drawer, pressing his body against her as he did so. Instantly, he could feel her nipples harden through the thin fabric of her dress and as he pulled the same bottle out with one hand, the other ran lightly down her back to the curve of her bottom, pulling her pelvis closer to him. He could feel her eyes on him as he drained the remainder of the whisky. "Where did you go?"

"Daddy's grave," she replied. "I met Mrs Ellsworth there, visiting her late husband."

"Really?" he met her gaze.

"Really. We conversed for the briefest of moments about nothing of any consequence." He saw her eyes dart from his own to his mouth and back up again.

"Was it as hot there as it is here?" he asked, reaching around her back and prying open the hooks on her dress.

"It's hotter here," she replied as the garment fell from her body onto the floor. He ran the back of his fingers down her naked stomach to the juncture of her thighs. "Al…"

"I thought you were complaining your needs weren't being fulfilled?" he teased, a finger finding her nub. He began to rub it gently and Catherine's head flopped back, her eyes closed and a whimper came from her throat. Firmer strokes caused her to groan softly and her knees began to buckle.

"Boss!" There was a sudden banging on the door. "Boss, you need to come see this!" Johnny's voice suddenly floated through from the other side.

Al paused momentarily in his action. Catherine's eyes opened and he could see a familiar look of resignation, as though she knew and expected what would happen next. He decided to surprise her. "It can wait, Johnny!" he called back, and a slow smile spread across Catherine's face. "Something in here needs my attention right now…"

XXXX

Wai-Lee had seen the forthright lady from the Gem saloon curse her husband from the thoroughfare. It wasn't the first time she had witnessed such behaviour and been amazed by it. She regularly defied her husband and talked back to him in public. He didn't seem to care how she spoke to him, though Wai-Lee had to admit, she didn't know what happened when the lady went inside the saloon. Perhaps her husband would shout at her, even beat her, for her insolence once away from the gaze of others. What she did know was that Jing-Ho, her own husband, would never tolerate such disrespect.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead as she looked down into the large tub where sheets for Mr Tolliver at the Bella Union were steaming. Picking up her stick, she stirred them again and then stepped back to take a sip of water from the bucket beside her.

"Wai-Lee!" She looked up to see Jing-Ho hurrying towards her, his expression grave. "Where are Mr Tolliver's bed-sheets?"

"Here," she replied, pointing into the tub.

"He send man to fetch them. He be angry if he cannot have them now!"

"If he want dry sheets then he wait," she replied. Jing-Ho shook his head and rubbed his hands over his face. "I can go no faster."

"You spend too much time daydreaming," he rebuked her. "Too much time listening to that woman and her disrespect," he gestured carelessly in the direction of the Gem. "You should be working!"

"I work hard!" she protested.

"Work harder!" he replied. "Sheets must be ready for Mr Tolliver!" She sighed heavily and he stepped towards her. "You want no business? No money? To work as whore?"

"No," she replied quickly.

"You work for woman at the Gem?"

"No!" she glared at him.

"Then please, hurry."

With her husband's worries ringing in her ears, Wai-Lee stirred the steaming sheets faster. Something told her, from everything she had observed in Deadwood since her arrival, that Mr Swearengen might not beat a woman for defying him, but Mr Tolliver would.


	3. Chapter 3

June 19th 1876

"It's too fucking hot to eat," Catherine said, putting her fork down and draining her water glass. "And it stinks in here." She wrinkled her nose and looked around at the other patrons sat closely packed together at the nearby tables. What with the heat, and the smell of Farnum's lunch offerings, it seemed all she could do to keep her stomach from regurgitating its contents. She suddenly caught Merrick's eye, seated as he was to her right. "I wasn't referring to you, of course," she said hurriedly at the look that crossed his face.

"I didn't think for one minute that you were!" he responded jollily. "In fact, I happen to agree with you that the odour is less than palatable this morning."

"That'll be tomorrow's editorial," Catherine said quietly to Joanie sat opposite her, "the stench of Deadwood." The other woman laughed and pushed her plate to the edge of the table. "Al'll love it, given how he thinks himself qualified to comment on Merrick's journalism."

"Speaking of Al," Joanie said, "things all right between you two? I only ask because of, well, yesterday's incident in the thoroughfare."

Catherine rolled her eyes, wondering how many others were going to mention the exchange in question. "Folks in this camp should actually come inside the Gem and hear how we talk to each other. It would make the minister blush. What happened yesterday was merely a trifling exchange of words."

"But everything is all right?" Joanie pressed.

"As well as it can be. I suppose we have our moments like everyone else. George Hearst and his apparently imminent arrival in camp seem to be his biggest concern right now. I suppose I can't blame him. Perhaps if he would confide in me some of his concerns, I might be better qualified to opine on the situation, but seeing as he won't…" she trailed off.

"Some men don't like worrying their wives I suppose."

"That ain't Al's thinking at all," Catherine said. "He doesn't think I'm clever enough or important enough to be able to offer any kind of opinion on the subject. Long as the whores are being looked to, that's all I'm good for as far as the Gem goes."

"Don't forget it's half your business," Joanie reminded her.

"In word only. On paper, it technically all belongs to Al. Such is the lot of the married woman. Turn over her property, lie on her back and open her legs."

"I suppose I wouldn't know."

Catherine looked sideways at her friend, "I thought that, of late, you were perhaps courting attention from a gentleman sat not too far away from us in this hotel."

Joanie looked across the room and then returned her gaze to the table top, "I don't know to what you're referring."

"I'm referring to Mr Utter," Catherine grinned, glancing over to where she had seen the gentleman in question cast glance after glance towards their table, none of which had landed on herself. Joanie said nothing. "He's a nice man. Deputy Sheriff no less…"

"He is a nice man, I grant you," Joanie said.

"But…."

"But he's made no overtures to me beyond polite greetings and the offer of assistance on occasions."

"Perhaps he hasn't the confidence to approach you directly. Perhaps he requires a little more encouragement…"

"My duties at the Chez Ami keep me pretty busy," Joanie interrupted. "It's a new place and…I need to be there to make sure things are done properly. Not that I don't trust Mattie, of course."

"Seems to me you spend more time at the Bella Union than you do at your own place," Catherine said carefully. Joanie looked up, her expression marred by a frown of annoyance. "I'm sorry, it ain't my place. Just seems to me that you tend to Cy when it really ain't your place any more. I figured you wanted out of the Bella Union to get away from him."

"It's…complicated," Joanie said.

"I'm sure it is."

"I don't judge your situation, Catherine, please don't judge mine." She got hastily to her feet, Catherine jumping up to join her.

"I'm sorry, Joanie, I don't mean…" she sighed heavily. "It really ain't my place and I need to remember that. I've gotten so used to arguing with Al and needing to force my views on him before he'll listen to me that I forget I shouldn't do that with people I consider my friends. I'm sorry, truly I am."

Joanie waved her hand dismissively, "Oh, it's all right. What you said has got to be half true at least." She sat back down. "I know I should leave Cy to be tended to by the others but…he's been in my life so long that it would just feel wrong."

Catherine nodded, though she knew her own situation was far removed from Joanie's. She had chosen to live in the Gem, first as Travis' daughter, then as Al's wife. Joanie, she knew, had had no such choice when it came to Tolliver. "So…" she elected to change the subject, "things are going all right at your place?"

Joanie nodded. "Mattie's good with the girls but…" she paused. "She keeps talking about this man, a mark, someone who's going to make her a fortune but she won't say who he is or anything more about him. There's a girl, Carrie, due to arrive on the stage later today. Mattie seems to think this gentleman favours her, or at least has done in the past."

"Then maybe he'll make himself known to you when he arrives."

"Maybe."

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Catherine looked up and saw Dan making his way over to their table. "Dan!" She greeted him, "Just when I thought the day couldn't get any better!"

Her sarcasm was clearly lost on him. "Al needs you to collect the meat from Wu," he said by way of greeting.

"Ain't that your job?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm busy," he replied, "and it needs done."

"So, what you're really saying is, you want me to collect the meat from Wu."

"Coming from me or from Al means the same thing," Dan said, a trace of annoyance in his tone. He threw some money onto the table in front of her. "Hurry up, Jewel's waiting for it." Without speaking further, he turned and left the room.

"Fucking prick," Catherine said, getting to her feet. "I swear to God, Joanie, one day he's going to feel my blade in his guts and, on that blessed occasion, I won't be fucking sorry."

XXXX

Chinks' Alley was crowded as usual. People scurried back and forth between the ice house, the washhouse and the various stalls selling food. Steam rose into the air from all over and, with it, the smells of flesh mingled with soap. Catherine hated dealing with Wu. Not because she was uncomfortable around him or his people, but simply because communicating with the man was neigh on impossible. Even as she approached the ice house, he stood guard outside it, arms folded across his chest, eying her warily.

"Wu," she greeted him. He nodded once in response. "Meat." She pointed to the door behind him. "I get meat. Take to Al."

"Swidgen," he replied.

"Yeah, Swidgen," she replied. "I take meat to Swidgen." She took the money Dan had given her from the pocket of her dress. Wu nodded and turned to open the door, shouting something incomprehensible to some nearby Chinks who scuttled away. He turned back and held up one finger, a signal for her to wait at the door. That much, she understood. A few moments later, he reappeared, carrying the biggest shoulder of meat she had seen in a long time. For a few seconds, she simply stared at it.

"Meat. Swidgen, You take." Wu said, helpfully.

"Uh…yeah…" her mind raced. "Big," she said finally. He shuffled towards her and, before she could say anything more, he was swinging the meat towards her. The only thing she could do was hold out her arms and take it from him. Hoisting it up against her left shoulder, her left cheek had no option but to rest against the flesh.

"Swidgen," Wu said, in a self-satisfied tone.

"Thanks," she replied as he took the money. If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought the Chinaman was laughing at her. Turning slowly, she began making her way back along the thoroughfare towards the Gem, struggling under the weight of the meat. No-one offered to help her, Chink or white man. "Fucking typical," she murmured to herself. "Dan probably knew how big this was going to be and is now having a fucking chuckle to himself. Fucking prick!"

As she turned left to join the main thoroughfare, she suddenly felt one foot sliding in the mud and, without warning she slipped to one side, viciously striking someone as she did so, the meat sliding from her shoulder onto the ground.

"Shit!" she exclaimed at the sight of it, only then realising that the person she had struck was a young Chink female, who was now sitting on her backside in the mud, white sheets surrounding her. "Oh fuck! Oh, I'm sorry!" Catherine exclaimed, leaning over the other woman. "I didn't mean to knock you down. Please forgive me." She held out her hand and the woman looked at it somewhat suspiciously. "At least let me help you up."

Eventually the woman accepted her proffered hand and allowed Catherine to pull her to her feet. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Are you hurt?"

"No, not at all, thank you."

Catherine took in the woman's tattered clothes, "You speak pretty good fucking English for…" she trailed off before adding the inevitable insult.

"Thank you," the woman said again.

"You're in a fucking minority, let me tell you. I'm Catherine Swearengen," she added hurriedly, "I live at the Gem."

"I know who you are."

"Oh, well I'm mighty glad one of us does. May I ask your name?" The woman looked hesitant. "Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't…pry…I'm sure you like your own fucking privacy as much as the next woman." Catherine bent down and, with great effort, retrieved the meat she had dropped, only just managing to remain on her feet. When she straightened back up, the woman had stepped forwards.

"I am Wai-Lee," she said, holding out her hand.

Catherine paused, shifted the meat higher and awkwardly returned the handshake. "Good to meet you Wai-Lee. You work for Wu?"

"I am washerwoman," Wai-Lee replied.

"Please tell me those sheets were dirty," Catherine said, taking in the mud-stained items on the ground.

"Yes," Wai-Lee replied, bending to gather them up. I also help with the meat. You have good there," she straightened back up and gestured to the produce Catherine was holding.

"I hope so, else my husband will have something to say about it," Catherine joked, but Wai-Lee's face grew worried. "Oh no, he's fine, really. He and Wu are…well…whatever the word is."

"Your husband, he stand on balcony," she gestured towards the Gem.

"Yeah, he stands on the fucking balcony," Catherine nodded. "Let's me do all the fucking work. Speaking of which, I should be getting back there with this," she gestured to the meat. "Nice talking to you, Wai-Lee."

"And you," Wai-Lee replied. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Catherine echoed. She turned slightly to watch the other woman be swallowed up in the crowd before resuming her journey home, and her cursing of Dan.

XXXX

"Dan said you were talking to a female Chink today."

Catherine turned from where she was undressing at the side of the bed and looked at Al, sat at his desk, glasses perched on his nose, reading over some papers. Somehow, his comment, and the tone it was uttered in, irritated her. "And how the fuck would Dan know who I was talking to?"

"I presume he saw you."

"And why would he have seen me, given he told me to collect the meat from Wu because he was allegedly too busy to venture into Chinks' Alley? He, who came striding into the hotel demanding I fetch it, acting as though his orders were coming from on high." She put her hands on her hips, another thought suddenly coming to her. "Are you having me followed again?"

"What?"

"Followed," she repeated, "like before. Was Dan's incapacity a ruse to have him stalk me like a deer?"

"Jesus Christ, of course not!" Al took off his glasses and looked at her. "You think I have nothing better to do than have eyes on you all the live long day? He said he happened to see you in conversation with a female Chink, that's all. She spoke English, I take it?"

"So, of course, he came running back here to relay this crucial information to you," she ignored his last sentence, finished undressing, slipped on her chemise and climbed into the bed. "And now you're going to fucking lecture me on who I can and cannot speak to, aren't you?"

Al sighed heavily and put down his pencil. "Forgive me for attempting to start a fucking conversation. I should have realised you would take it ill out."

"That comment was not an attempt at a fucking conversation, Al. That was a preamble to a scolding. Who I speak to in the camp is entirely up to me, not you. The ring on my finger proclaims we are legally bound together as husband and wife, not gaoler and prisoner."

He appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, glasses in hand, a weary expression on his face. "Is that how you really feel? You think yourself prisoner in this place? Prisoner in this bed?"

"No…" she backtracked, realising when he spoke the words how ridiculous it sounded.

"For by all means, Catherine, throw off the shackles of our union and sally forth to fuck your way around camp, mingle with the Chinks and earn yourself a reputation not far from the truth if that be what you desire! Do not restrain yourself on my fucking account!"

She stared at him, "Meaning what?"

"Meaning I ain't in the business of keeping you here if you have no wish to be kept, though always bearing in mind that better women than you have felt the back of my hand for lesser indiscretions," he explained, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Indiscretions…" she mocked. "Talking to a Chink? A female Chink at that? Such action would deserve a physical rebuke?" He raised his eyebrows. "Then strike me, Al. The threat has hung in the air for longer than I care to remember. Make good on your promises to me."

"Don't fucking tempt me," he replied, turning and walking away back over to his desk.

Anger flared inside her and, throwing the covers off of her, she stormed out of the bedroom and into the office. "I am fucking tempting you!" she snapped. "In fact, I shall stand here unflinching and let you do your worst. Display your handiwork for all the camp to see so that no-one can ever say Al Swearengen can't control his own fucking wife!"

Al, stood in front of his desk, turned to look at her, a genuine expression of mild confusion on his face. "Jesus fucking Christ, forgive me for speaking in my own bedroom! Can't a woman understand good natured humour when it presents itself in front of her?"

"I don't see humour, I see a threat. A threat that if I don't do what you want, or what you find acceptable, then I may suffer the consequences for it."

"Get the fuck away from me," he replied, irritation replacing his previous humour. Pushing past her, he threw open the balcony doors to the cool night air. "If a husband can't expect a civil word from his wife of an evening then what hope does he have?" He stepped outside, clearly hoping she would desist and return to bed, but Catherine wasn't finished. Her temper was still hot and she would have her say.

"I ain't fucking finished," she said, following him. "You wish to forbid me from talking to Chinks, you'll have to make it clear to me the consequences if I disobey you!"

"Oh really? Trust me, you wouldn't like the consequences!"

"Try me!"

"Enough of this ridiculous show," he said, turning his back on her. "You're starting to give me a fucking headache."

"I said, try me!" She grabbed his shoulder, pulling him round to face her. "Fucking try me, Al!"

Later, she would come to realise that he acted without thinking, instinctively, as any man might do when faced with attack. His hand went for her throat, gripped her tightly and pushed her back, hard, against the wall, causing her to cry out in fear and surprise. Almost immediately, he released her and stepped back, breathing heavily.

"Look what you made me do," he said, moving past her back inside the office.

Catherine waited for a moment on the balcony, her heart racing in her chest. Gingerly, she touched the skin of her throat where his hand had been. Slowly, she turned and followed him back inside. He had his back to her, pouring a glass of whisky. She watched as he lifted it to his lips, downed it in one, then repeated the action a second time. She didn't know how long she stood there until he finally turned to face her, his eyes dark in the lamplight.

"You fucking happy?" he asked. "You wanted me to lay hands on you and I did. I'm only sorry I grabbed you by the throat when clearly you were angling for a blow across the mug."

She fought for words, "I…"

"You want to talk to Chinks, you talk to Chinks. You do whatever the fuck you like, Catherine." His voice was quiet, controlled and yet she could hear a slight waiver of emotion. "All I ask is that you run my whores, be gracious to my patrons and, when occasion warrants, be willing and open to being fucked. The rest is up to you."

Before she could think of adequate words of response, he slammed the half-empty whisky bottle down on the desk and strode out of the office, allowing the door to slam shut behind him.

XXXX

Catherine was asleep by the time Al returned to the bedroom, hours later. Knowing her as he did, he knew she would have stayed awake, waiting for him, as long as she had been able to. But he had deliberately stayed away and sleep had finally claimed her. The lamp still burned on the beside table throwing light onto her face, peaceful in sleep, her hands clasped below her chin almost in prayer, the bedclothes kicked to the end of the bed in the evening humidity. He stood at the door for a long moment watching her, replaying the events of the evening over in his mind. When he thought of the moment his hand had gripped her throat, he felt a sudden sense of revulsion and had to turn away lest he see the telltale marks on her skin. It wasn't the first time he had laid hands on a woman. Nettie had suffered at his hands, as had many, if not all, of the whores in his employ. But Catherine was different, or at least she should be. Though he had often felt the urge to strike her, when her blood was hot and she had a bee in her bonnet about some nonsense of or other, something had always stopped him. In the beginning, he had assumed it was the enduring respect he had for Travis, her late father, but latterly he had to recognise it was because he loved her. Loved her more than he had ever thought it was possible to love anyone. Or rather, more than he had ever thought it was possible for he, Al Swearengen, to love someone more than himself.

That was why he had checked himself, resisted the urges that had surged within him upon leaving the room. Downstairs to the bar he had gone, passions enflamed, ready to seek out the first whore who cast a glance in his direction. He would take her to the nearest room, grab her by the hair, pin her under him and fuck her until he had his release. Dolly had looked first and he had taken two steps towards her before he stopped himself. The act would solve nothing and betray everything. Moreover, he had grown used to the familiarity of Catherine's body next to his own, much as he had with Trixie before her. Practice and persistence had revealed her tender spots. He knew what would make her cry out and what would make her shudder. Light, fingertip strokes across her back would instinctively make her bury herself closer to him and, more often than not, take his prick in her hand and work it like a practiced whore. He found himself enjoying the closeness they shared in bed and had no wish to return to the empty, soulless fucking he had become so used to before their union.

Undressing down to his duds, he climbed into the bed beside her and doused the lamp. There were so many things on his mind, not least of all the problems arising from George Hearst and his seeming wish to take over the camp from afar. He glanced at Catherine's silhouette and wondered if he should ask Charlie Utter about getting him a copy of that mail order catalogue from Tiffany's.


	4. Chapter 4

June 20th 1876

When she woke the next morning, Catherine felt as though her head was in a vice. The pain when she opened her eyes was incredible and her stomach lurched when she tried to move. Groaning, she rubbed warm fingers over her eyes, recalling how she had emptied the remainder of Al's whisky bottle after he had left her the previous night. She hadn't intended on finishing it all, but the longer he remained absent from her side, the more she had drunk. She couldn't even remember if he had come to bed and, glancing at the empty space beside her, she wasn't convinced he hadn't slept elsewhere. His actions had frightened her. Not just the violence, but the way he had looked at her afterwards. The way he had spoken to her, reducing their marriage almost to one of convenience, which was the last thing she wanted.

Gingerly, she pulled herself into a seated position and swung her legs over the bed. The room swam in front of her and as she got to her feet, the pounding in her head intensified. "I'm never fucking drinking again," she swore to herself as she padded to the washbasin and cleaned her face. The water she poured from the jug was meant to be cool, but the unending heat had given it a humid temperature and it did nothing to ease her suffering. Dressing in an outfit of pale blue, she looked at her pale reflection and sighed. Something told her she owed Al an apology. After pulling her hair back into a half ponytail, she stepped out of the office door onto the balcony and could hear the sounds of breakfast coming from downstairs. Accompanying them were the smells and, again, her stomach lurched, causing her to close her eyes briefly and take a deep breath to steady herself lest she faint or lose her stomach contents.

"Morning!" She opened them again and looked down to see Jewel staring up at her from the bar. "You want some breakfast?"

Catherine shook her head and walked towards the stairs, "Just coffee, Jewel, thank you."

"You need to eat," the other woman chastised her gently.

"Not this morning, I don't," she replied, descending slowly. As she reached the bottom, Al appeared from the kitchen, his eye appraising her. "Morning," she greeted him cautiously.

"You look like shit," he replied, "though it's little wonder given the empty bottle I found next to our bed this morning."

"I didn't mean to drink it all," she replied, "I was waiting for you."

"And I returned, only by then the drink had taken hold and you were in no fit state for further conversation."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

She met his gaze, "All of it." His eyes flickered across her face and, for a brief moment, she thought he might venture the same apology.

"We'll say no more about it," was his eventual response and he sat down at the table just as Jewel provided him with a plate of bacon and eggs, the sight of which made Catherine's stomach heave again. "If you must vomit, take it elsewhere," he told her, "lest you put me off of my food."

Catherine turned away and lifted the cup of coffee Jewel had brought her. She sipped the hot liquid slowly, feeling it restore life to her body and her mind. There was much to be done that day. Doc would be arriving for his mid-week examination of the girls and it was wash day, when all the saloon linens were sent to be cleaned. She could feel sweat breaking out on her brow and she walked over to the open door in the hope that there might be an early morning breeze to cool her. Sadly, she was not to be so rewarded.

As she stood, uselessly fanning herself with her hand, the Gem's regular early morning visitor sloped quickly past her and headed for the large screen set up in the far corner. Without prompting Dolly, Tina and Mary followed and Catherine knew that within seconds he would be licking their titties before continuing with his day.

It was nice to know that some things never changed.

XXXX

Wai-Lee hovered at the entrance to the tent watching the figure lying on the bed in front of her. If anyone in the community were to ask, she would reply that Ping-Lee was looking better and that she hoped the worst had passed, but the truth was far different. If anything, her sister looked even sicker than she had the previous evening. Her temperature had soared and every so often, she would let out a low moan of pain and delirium. The family were taking it in turns to sit with her and though no-one said it, they were all thinking the worst.

"She grows worse." Wai-Lee turned to see her grandmother standing behind her. Small and wizened, her long grey hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, Chao-Xing, looked every one of the innumerable years of her age. "My medicine fails me."

"What can we do?" Wai-Lee asked, thinking of the many herbs she had seen her grandmother crush, put into water, make tea or ointment with and how there appeared to be no improvement. Having grown up with the old Chinese medicine, she could hardly dare to believe that it would fail their family now. Her breath caught in her throat as her grandmother shook her head without speaking. "No…" she breathed, turning back.

"You must be strong, Wai-Lee. You must work, keep Jing-Ho happy, do your duty." Chao-Xing touched her shoulder gently. "You should be at washhouse."

Wai-Lee ducked her head, willing the tears to remain at bay. She knew her grandmother was right, but it was difficult when all she wanted to do was stay by her sister's side. She turned and cast a glance towards the Gem. The lady, Catherine, would be bringing the linens today, as always. She would not care what problems befell Wai-Lee's family. She would simply want her linens cleaned and returned to her.

Some things never changed.

XXXX

As Al approached the freight office, he tried to look as nonchalant as possible, as though he regularly sojourned to speak with Charlie Utter of a morning in relation to postal matters. As though they were something akin to friends. The man in question was busy stacking packages outside the office but stopped when he saw Al approaching, his own expression mirroring Al's trepidation.

"Something I can do for you?"

Al paused, wondering how best to ask the question without arising suspicion or ridicule. "I was hoping you might be able to help me with an inquiry I have, Mr Utter."

"Depends on the inquiry," Charlie replied.

"I don't suppose that, of routine, you happen to receive what I understand is commonly referred to as 'the blue book?'"

Charlie looked at him as though he were simple. "The what?"

"The blue book."

"I ain't got the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"It's a mail order catalogue from…from Tiffanys'," Al explained, stepping closer and lowering his voice lest anyone should hear the content of his conversation.

"Where?"

"Tiffanys'. It's a jewellers' in New York City. They have a catalogue with some of their goods advertised in it..." Al trailed off. "I would have thought a man as knowledgeable as you in all postal matters would have been well acquainted with such establishments."

"Well I ain't," Charlie replied gruffly, "and I ain't never heard of no blue book."

"Perhaps," Al reached into his pocket and pulled out some notes, "you might be able to make some inquiries for me?" He licked his thumb, peeled off three and handed them to Charlie.

The other man took them, glancing around as he did so, and pushed them into his pocket. "I can ask around. Might be able to get something for you."

"I'd appreciate it," Al replied. "Lord knows anything you might be able to find would keep me in Mrs Swearengen's good graces." As he turned to leave, he caught sight of Joanie standing a few feet away, hovering as though trying to decide whether or not to step forwards. "Ah, Miss Stubbs," he greeted her. "Just in good time. Mr Utter and I are finished our conversation."

"Mr Swearengen," she greeted him in return.

"Good day Mr Utter, Miss Stubbs…" Al turned to leave, glancing over his shoulder as he did so to see Joanie approach Charlie and the look of pleasure on the other man's face. He smiled to himself recalling Catherine's conversation one evening about how she was sure the pair liked each other well enough to be together and how she hoped Charlie would eventually confess his feelings. It would be nice, he couldn't help but think, very nice.

XXXX

It had taken Catherine a while to gather up all the linens, given that she had had to stop every few seconds to vomit. She was beginning to wonder if Al had spiked the whisky with something extra special. She had never felt this way with a hangover, never and she vowed that she would never drink liquor again.

Finally, when all the linens had been collected, she left the Gem and headed out into the stifling heat to make her way to the washhouse. As she neared Wu's pigs, the smell made her stomach turn over and she had to pause before continuing. As she reached her destination, she saw Wai-Lee standing over a large steaming tub, stirring what looked like sheets with a large wooden implement. As she approached, the other woman looked up and raised a hand in greeting.

"You have sheets?" Wai-Lee asked, wiping her hands on her apron and stepping forwards.

"Yes," Catherine replied, holding out the bundle. As Wai-Lee took them from her, she wiped the back of her arm across her brow. "I have no fucking clue how you can stand over that tub in this heat!"

"It is my job," Wai-Lee replied, carefully placing the bundle to one side.

"I understand that but…Christ it's hot." When Wai-Lee turned back around however, Catherine noticed her expression was troubled. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," she replied quickly.

"You look a little…well…upset."

"It is nothing."

"Are you sure?" Catherine asked, relieved for a moment to take her mind off her own ailments. "If I can do anything to help…"

"My sister is very sick," Wai-Lee said, resuming her stirring. "I worry for her."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Of course you must worry…" Catherine suddenly felt another wave of nausea wash over her and she reached out to hold onto the tub.

"Are you all right?" Wai-Lee asked.

"Just feeling a little fucking queasy, that's all," Catherine replied, stumbling over towards the steps leading to the icehouse and sinking down on them. She placed her head between her knees, the sounds of Deadwood fading away to be replaced by the blood from her body pumping in her ears. She felt a gentle hand on her arm but could still hear nothing until, gradually, sounds began to return to her and, lifting her head, she saw Wai-Lee crouched in front of her. "I'm all right," she said, though her voice sounded thick to her own ears.

"You so very pale," Wai-Lee said, her brow furrowed. "Here…" she thrust a cup of water at her and Catherine accepted it gratefully. "Slowly," she was instructed as she tried to gulp the liquid down in one, as though draining a glass of whisky. "You feel better?"

Catherine nodded. "I think it's just the heat."

"You should go home, lie down," Wai-Lee ordered.

"I will," Catherine said, accepting the other woman's assistance to get to her feet. "I'm sorry to cause you trouble, especially when you have your own worries."

"As long as you are all right," Wai-Lee said.

"I'm fine, thank you. I'll send one of the girls to collect the linens tonight." Stumbling slightly, she turned back towards home, one foot in front of the other, following a familiar path until the door to the Gem was in sight. Inside, trade was brisk, Al was nowhere to be seen and as she headed for the stairs, lying down in the coolness of her bedroom was her only thought.

"Catherine?" She turned to see Doc coming out of the whores' room, his brow furrowed. "You look like shit."

"I feel like shit," she replied, holding onto the banister for support. "Took the fucking linens to the washhouse and almost passed out when I got there. Too much fucking whisky last night."

"Let me come take a look at you," he said.

"I don't need you to, Doc, really, I just need to lie down, that's all."

"I'm here, so I might as well take a look," he insisted.

Catherine sighed, "Fine, if you feel you must." She was grateful for his arm as he helped her traverse the stairs and walk the corridor to the office door. Once inside, he bade her go into the bedroom and loosen her dress.

"Take a deep breath for me," he instructed, pressing his stethoscope against her chest. "And again. Mmm-hmm…" he pulled open each of her eyelids in turn. "You been feeling like this a while?"

"No, just this morning really. I've been tired the last few days but I figured it was just the heat."

"You been sick at all?"

"Couple of times."

Doc moved his hands down over her stomach, cupping one hand above and below, then pressed his stethoscope down onto her stomach. "You had any weird cravings or strange tastes in your mouth lately?"

"No," she shook her head. "Why? What is it?"

"What about your monthly? Does it come regularly?"

"I…I suppose…"

"When was the last time?"

"I…" Catherine thought back and found her memory wanting. "I ain't sure…"

"Well I'm pretty certain of the diagnosis," Doc said finally, moving from the bed and sitting down in the chair.

"Which is?"

"You're with child."

Catherine raised herself up onto her elbows and stared at him. "I'm...I'm what?"

"With child," he repeated. "I can hear a strong heartbeat and that would account for the fatigue and the sickness."

"But..." she stammered for a response, "but I don't...I mean..." her mind raced as she thought back over all the times, too many to remember, when she and Al had fucked with careless abandon. How she in particular had given no thought to the consequences and, genuinely, could not remember the date of her last monthly bleed.

"I would have hoped this news would be welcome," Doc said, quietly breaking into her thoughts.

"Nettie and Al were married for years and there was never...never a child..."

"What happens in one marriage can never be indicative of what may happen in another. I would venture to say, though I have no first-hand knowledge of the former, that Al's marriage to Nettie was very different to the one he has with you in all sorts of ways."

Catherine swung her legs over the side of the bed, her mind reeling. She had never, never considered a child! Not that she had ever had feelings against having one but with her role at the Gem and everything that had happened to her father, Baker, Kitty...the incident with Claggett...there had been too many other things to focus on, to think about, to worry about than how she would raise a child. And Al! What would Al say about it all?

When she looked again at Doc, his expression was worried. "I'm not...I'm not unhappy," she said slowly. "I suppose it will simply take some time to acclimatise myself to the situation. I hadn't pictured myself..."

Doc leaned over and took her hands in his. "You will make a wonderful mother, Catherine, of that I have no doubt."

"I appreciate your endorsement. Please, can I ask of you one favour?"

"Anything."

"Don't reveal this news to Al on my behalf. I want to...I need to...take on board..."

"Catherine, as I've told you before my discretion lies with my patient, in this case your good self. Even if I were so inclined, ethics prevent me from disclosing anything to Al without your consent." He squeezed her hands. "But you must tell him."

She ducked her head, "I know."

"As the man who, rightly or wrongly, dictates your daily life here, and as your husband…"

"I know."

"Things have to change now. You can't be undertaking any heavy lifting or the like. No collecting the meat from Wu or taking linens to the washhouse. And you shouldn't spend all your days walking the floor in the Gem minding the girls either. You'll need plenty rest, fresh air and nourishing food to ensure this child is born healthy."

Catherine looked at him, "I understand, Doc, really I do. I just…"

"I know it's come as a shock," he said. "So you take some time to get used to it and to tell Al and then you come see me at the end of the week and we'll talk some more, all right?" She nodded. "All right then. Let me leave you some powders which should assist with the morning sickness." He laid a small packet on the bedside table.

"Thank you." She watched as he made to leave. "Doc?" He turned back. "How far gone am I?"

"I reckon you can expect to welcome your little one come next February."

February, she thought to herself after he had gone. The same time Daddy died.

XXXX

"Cathy ain't well," Dan told Al upon his return to the Gem. "Doc saw her earlier and she ain't come out her room since.

"Well what the fuck's wrong with her?" Al asked.

"I didn't ask and Doc weren't in no mood for revealing," Dan replied. "He just said she was to be resting for the rest of the day."

Leaving the bustling bar, Al climbed the stairs to his office whereupon he found the bed rumpled but empty. Stepping out onto the balcony, he saw Catherine standing at the far end, gazing out across the hills.

"Dan said you were taken to your bed." She turned to face him and he found himself taken aback by the pallor of her skin, highlighted by the dark shawl she had slung around her shoulders, despite the enduring heat.

"I'm all right," she replied softly.

"What was the diagnosis?" he asked, stepping closer to her. "Dan said Doc attended to you."

"Dan talks a lot."

"Relaying a concern, one of which I'm glad he did given I wasn't here to notice it myself."

"I'm all right," she repeated. "Just been feeling a bit off today. Like at breakfast, you remember?"

"I remember thinking your stomach contents were going to end up all over my bacon," he recalled. "Doc say what had caused it?"

"I reckon I drank too much whisky last night is all."

"I didn't ask you what you reckoned. I asked what his diagnosis was," he replied irritability creeping into his tone.

"Fatigue," she said quickly. "No doubt brought on by this insufferable heat." She turned her gaze away again so that he couldn't see her eyes.

"Then shouldn't you return to bed?" Al asked.

"I've been there some time already and I needed a breath of air."

"Cathy…" Al took her gently by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "You are telling me the truth, ain't you?"

Her eyes widened, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because sometimes…" he trailed off, wondering what he really meant to say and how to say it. He often thought that her disclosures to him were less than full and frank, for reasons he couldn't seem to articulate. And yet he wondered if that was only because his own were often equally as guarded. "I love you," he said. "Lord knows I hope you know that." As he watched, he saw her eyes suddenly fill with tears that spilled over down her cheeks. "Cathy…" he pulled her to him, concerned as to what had upset her so much. "If there be something amiss with you, and I hope to God there ain't, then it's only right I be a party to it."

She pulled back from him, "It's not…I mean…nothing's wrong as such but…"

"But what?" he asked, ducking his head so as she couldn't avoid his gaze.

"Come inside," she said finally, "there's something I have to tell you."


	5. Chapter 5

"What is it?" Al asked quietly, following her back inside to the cool shade of the office. Fear allowed for all sorts of horrible ideas to whirl around in his head. Was she sick? Was she dying? What could Doc have possibly told her that had led to such upset? She turned to face him and he steeled herself for her words.

"Please keep your temper," she said.

"Please say what you have to say and I'll reflect on that later," he said, wishing she would simply reveal her secret and put him out of the agony that was starting to cause a pain in his chest. He could feel his fists balled at his sides, nails digging into the skin. He would have to be strong, whatever it was.

"Doc said..." she paused. "He said that I'm..."

"For Christ's sake, Cathy, tell me!" Al roared, frustrated by her hesitation.

"I'm pregnant!" she cried out, stepping back from him.

Al stared at her for a long moment, processing her words. "I don't think I heard you right," he said finally.

"Pregnant," she repeated quietly, her eyes filling with tears again. "With the happy occasion due to take place next February."

Relief flooded him. He felt his body relax, the fear and worry drain suddenly away. She wasn't sick at all. It was a child...just a child... Turning to his desk and lifting the bottle of whisky that sat there, he opened it, filled two glasses and held one out to her. "Jesus fucking Christ you had me thinking it was something serious."

Catherine frowned. "What?"

"You had me thinking you were about to confess you only had but months to live!" he declared, draining his own glass and shaking hers gently in her direction. "News to the contrary is certainly in need of celebration." He watched as she moved slowly over to him and took the glass from his outstretched hand. "You a mother and me a father..." he mused. "Not a course I'd considered before now but that's by-the-by..." He put his empty glass down on the desk and moved towards her. "Nice to know it's all in good working order."

"I told Doc I didn't understand it," Catherine said, putting her still-full glass down. "Your marriage to Nettie lasted so long without any children being born."

"Nettie was barren."

"Was she?"

Al nodded.

"I didn't realise."

"Why would you? But a child yourself at the time." He put his hands on her waist, relieved to feel the solidness of her flesh beneath him and grateful that he would not have to feel the pain of her loss anytime soon. "Had your news been of a more terminal nature, I ain't quite sure what I would have done."

"You ain't...angry then?" she queried.

"No," he met her gaze. "At least, not with you. Angry at myself, perhaps, if my putting the child there has caused you illness thus far." He cupped her face in his hands, smoothing loose tendrils of hair away from her face, wishing there was more colour in her complexion.

"Doc said I need to make sure I take plenty rest and he left me powders for the sickness..." she trailed off as tears slipped down her cheeks again.

"Why the fuck do you weep?" Al asked, concerned.

"I was afraid...I was afraid of what you might say."

"Cathy..." he pulled her to him, hating himself. "Cathy, Cathy, Cathy...have these last months taught you nothing of my feelings for you?"

"I know that business is important," she replied, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "I thought...maybe now with Hearst coming...you would think it inappropriate."

"Doing my duty to the camp," he said, pulling back from her. "Like we all have to do. It doesn't mean that when engaged in discussions of serious camp business I don't have one eye on you or that my mind ain't thinking about laying next to you come evening. You should understand that."

She nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be fucking sorry," he chided her. "But if Doc proclaimed that rest is the best medicine then rest you shall have." He began steering her towards the bed. "Now I want you to conserve your energy. Lord only knows you'll need it in the months ahead."

Catherine acquiesced without argument and got back into the bed, pulling the covers over her legs. "Thank you," she said, meeting his gaze.

"Don't thank me," he said, turning towards the door. "Just make sure to bear me a son."

XXXX

"Free drinks for everyone!" Al declared, coming down the stairs into the bar. The patrons roared their appreciation at this surprise but Dan merely looked at him as though he had lost his mind.

"You feeling all right, boss?"

"Never felt better, Dan," Al replied, pulling a bottle towards him and pouring a generous measure. "Nothing like finding out you're in full working order."

"Generally or specifically?

"Let's just say that for a man of my advancing years, the news I've just received restores my faith that out of all the shit happening in this camp at the moment, there are, on occasions, little glimmers of hope." He downed the liquid in one go and poured another. "Hope for the future of this sorry place we call home."

"I ain't got the faintest idea what you're talking about, but I'll drink to that," Dan said, quickly following Al's example and downing a shot.

"Dan..." Al placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I tell you this news in the strictest of confidence. Confidence which, I hope, you would recognise would be foolhardly to break at this early stage."

"What news? News of Hearst?"

Al shook his head. "News of Catherine."

"Oh..."

"All her recent strangeness of mood, high temper and queasiness of appetite have finally been given explanation in the form of a child."

Dan stared at him uncomprehendingly. "What child?"

"What child...my child!"

"Your child?"

"Far be it from me to have to explain the obvious to you, Dan, but when a man and a woman, bound together in matrimony as Catherine and I are, indulge themselves in certain carnal delights, one must always be aware that the end consequence may be a son and heir." He laughed and slapped the other man's back. "What say you to that?"

"Oh...uh...congratulations."

"Exactly! Congratulations that after all these years I still have the ability!" Al slammed his empty glass down on the bar with satisfaction. "I always knew Nettie was barren, though she would never deign to admit it, and that her childless state was not of my doing. And my son...my son will inherit this place when I'm too old and too lost in my mind to know what to do with it." He gazed around the room watching as the hoopleheads drank themselves stupid, touched up the whores and sang tunelessly around the piano, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his second in command failed to share in the excitement.

"Well that's...that's great boss," Dan said finally.

"It is, Dan, it is. I find myself surprised by how pleasant I find this news," Al mused.

"How do you know it'll be a boy though? Chances are, she could present you with a daughter."

"Lord saves us if she does," Al said, "cause no doubt she'd be as stubborn and pig headed as her mother."

XXXX

"You're pregnant?" Jewel's expression was a picture of incredulity that made Catherine laugh despite how hellish she was feeling.

"Yes Jewel, I'm pregnant."

"But...how?"

"You live in a whorehouse, how do you think?"

The other woman put the supper tray she had brought down at the side of the bed and shook her head. "I don't want to think about it. What did Al say?"

"He was a little surprised but I think deep down he was pleased." Catherine lifted the copy of the Pioneer she had been reading and started fanning herself with it. "I just wish this weather would break a little."

"How far gone are you?"

"Doc reckons two months."

"You feel good about it?"

"No, I feel like shit right now but I guess it just takes some getting used to."

"I made beef," Jewel gestured to the plate on the tray and Catherine felt her stomach suddenly contract.

"Don't think I can manage anything right now."

"You got to eat for the baby."

"I know, but every time I look at food I want to throw up." She put her head back against the pillow. "Doc left me some powders. Could you put them in some tea for me? It might make me feel better."

"Sure," Jewel lifted the packet from the table. "What about some peaches?"

"Peaches?"

"Yeah, we got some downstairs. Maybe you'd like that better than beef."

"Maybe," Catherine replied as the other woman lifted the tray. "I'm sorry Jewel."

"Don't worry, when the baby comes, I'll help you to look after it," she smiled lopsidedly.

Catherine smiled indulgently. "I'd appreciate that."

As Jewel made to leave the bedroom, she almost collided with Silas on his way in. He stepped gallantly out of the way to allow the other woman to pass and then moved towards the bed.

"I hear congratulations are in order."

"How do you know?" Catherine asked.

"Al's downstairs getting himself pretty loosened up. I don't think he intended telling many folk but I reckon the whole camp knows by now, or will soon, given how many free drinks he's giving away."

"I suppose I should be grateful for his approval," she said.

"You look pale," Silas said, stepping closer to the bed. "You feeling all right?"

"Let's just say I hope to God I don't have to feel like this for my entire confinement. It's so fucking hot in here..." she pushed the covers off of her legs and gingerly made to get out of the bed. Silas stepped back and coughed conspicuously. "Oh for Christ's sake, it ain't as if you ain't never seen me in my nightclothes before."

"It feels different now you're...well..."

"Well what?"

"Carrying Al's child. Don't seem right that I should be...uh..."

"Well go if you must, but I need some fresh air before I fucking melt into a puddle." Catherine slowly made her way over to the balcony doors and stepped out into the warm evening air. There wasn't so much as a breath of wind and as she stood looking out over the camp, she could feel rivulets of sweat running down her back.

"Here," she turned and saw Silas appear beside her with a chair from the office. "If you're going to be out here you should at least be sitting down. In your condition, I mean," he added.

"Good Lord, what's come over you?" Catherine asked, accepting his offer. "Can I expect Dan and Johnny to start running after me too?"

"Doubtful," he said with a smile.

Leaning forward, she placed her arms on the balcony and rested her chin against them.

"I'll...uh...I'll leave you to it," Silas said, disappearing before she had a chance to question him further.

As darkness slowly started to fall and the temperature finally conceded to drop, Catherine felt her eyes grow heavy. The evening song of the camp washed over her and though she tried to summon the energy to get to her feet and walk back to her bed, tiredness overcame her and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

It was later, when he finally decided to turn in himself, that Al found her still sitting on the balcony, her body rising and falling in gentle sleep. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he lifted her into his arms and carried her inside, placing her gently down on the bed and drawing the covers around her. His hand lingered briefly on her cheek, remembering again the ugly bruises he had inflicted there. Not by his own hand, but the next best thing. With shame and disgust he recalled grabbing her throat and pushing her against the wall. He would never have laid hands on her had he known her condition.

His eyes strayed to her belly, concealed beneath the bedclothes and unchanged as of yet. Things were about to become so different, in so many ways. He only hoped he had the strength for it all.

June 22nd 1876

"How do you feel now?" Doc asked, pulling down Catherine's left eyelid and staring into her eye.

"I still feel like shit," she replied honestly. "I thought it was just a long hangover from all that whisky I drank but...I feel tired, sick all the time and the heat is killing me." She fanned herself for emphasis as he stepped back from her.

"Yeah it is rather stifling."

"I don't know how you survive in here," she looked around his home. "It's got to be even fucking hotter in here than it is at the Gem."

"Don't you concern yourself with me," he replied. "Just be thinking about your own health."

"I'm trying. Not that I've felt much like eating over the last couple of days. And before you say anything, I know it's important to eat well and get plenty of fresh air..." she shook her head. "I still can't take it in."

"But Al was pleased?"

"More pleased than I thought he'd be. I figured he'd be angry but...all he can talk about is having a son. I only hope that's what I give him." She rested her hand against her still flat stomach, thinking about the child inside.

"That ain't a determination you, me or Al can make," Doc said. "Only person who knows what your child's going to be is the Lord."

"I know."

"You been taking those powders I left you?"

"Yes, but I don't think they're helping."

"You ain't given them a chance to work yet," he advised her. "Keep taking them as and when you feel the need. I want to see you again in a week's time."

"Thanks Doc," Catherine replied, climbing down from his examining table and buttoning up the front of her dress. "I appreciate your assistance."

"That's what I'm here for," he replied. "If this is what you want...then I couldn't be happier for you."

Catherine smiled. "If you had asked me a year ago, hell even six months ago, if I would have been happy married to Al and carrying his child I would have said you were crazier than Richardson. But now..."

Doc patted her shoulder, "Good."

She stepped out of his quarters and into the dry, midday heat with a resigned sigh. It was clear that there was no sign of rain or cool air anytime soon and she would simply have to bear it as best she could. Slowly, she began walking back along the thoroughfare towards the Gem, mindful of her progress. In times gone by, she would stride along, pushing people out of her way if need be but now, now she took her time. There was nothing she wanted less than to risk harming the life inside her.

"Catherine!" She turned to see Joanie coming towards her from the Bella Union. "I haven't seen you for days!"

"Ain't been feeling too good to be honest," Catherine replied, rubbing her stomach

Joanie looked from her face, to her stomach and back to her face again. "Are you...?" Catherine nodded. "Well...congratulations!" She pulled her into a quick hug. "I'm happy for you. If...you're happy that is?"

Catherine laughed at her caution, "I'm happy."

"Good," Joanie relaxed. "How did Al take the news?"

"He took it well," she replied as they fell into step beside each other. "Can't stop talking about having a son."

"Typical fucking man."

"Yeah...so what about you? Any movement on the Charlie Utter front?"

Joanie blushed, "We've been having breakfast together these last few mornings...I don't know..." she shook her head. "Ain't used to male attention that don't come with strings attached."

"He ain't Cy," Catherine reminded her.

"I know...anyways...I got some laundry to collect from that Chink washerwoman."

"Wai-Lee? I'll come with you," Catherine said.

"Mrs Swearengen!" She paused and looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun to see Al watching her from the balcony. "And where might you be going now?"

"Chinks Alley," she replied.

"What the fuck for?"

"I'm keeping Miss Stubbs company in her quest for clean linen."

Al nodded to Joanie, "Don't you think you should be doing something more in line with your condition? Resting perhaps?"

"I'll only be a few minutes. Besides, I could use the change of scene!" She linked her arm through Joanie's and they continued their progression along the thoroughfare.

"Catherine!"

She stopped and turned back to where he was still watching her. "What?" He didn't say anything in response, merely looked at her as though there were things he wanted to say but couldn't find the words for. "I won't be long," she said finally.

"What was that all about?" Joanie asked, as they kept walking.

Catherine shook her head, "Protection, I think."

XXXX

Al watched as Catherine and Joanie walked away from him towards Chinks Alley, arm in arm, their heads close together in conversation. At the same moment, Silas emerged from Farnum's hotel, his gaze lifting instinctively towards his boss.

"Follow her," Al said.

"What for?"

"Just fucking do it!"

Silas stared at him for a moment and then, without further recourse, began making his way through the crowd in pursuit of Catherine.


	6. Chapter 6

Wai-Lee tried hard to focus on the task in front of her, but tears kept filling her eyes and dripping down her cheeks into the steaming water in front of her. It didn't matter how hard she tried, the cold, dead face of her sister still swam before her.

The family had prayed so hard, tried everything they could and yet, Ping-Lee had still been taken from them. Her parents were inconsolable, her mother taken to her bed in her tent with a strong dose of her grandmother's calming herbs, with everyone asking why. Why had this happened to Ping-Lee? What had she ever done to be taken so cruelly?

Though devastated by her loss, a part of Wai-Lee was glad that it was over for her sister. No human being should have needed to suffer as she had. The fever, the cramps…not to mention the unstoppable release of bodily waste, the stench of which she could still smell in her nostrils.

And more people were sick, that she knew for a fact. No-one else in her family had been afflicted, but there were others, lying in their tents, crying out in delirium. She could only hope and pray that the devil had no intention of returning to her kin.

As she wiped her forehead free from sweat, Wai-Lee glanced up and saw the women approaching her. The woman from the Gem and the prostitute who had worked for Mr Tolliver. They were walking arm-in-arm, talking and laughing, oblivious to her pain.

"Afternoon," Catherine greeted her as they approached.

"Hello," Wai-Lee replied, averting her gaze back down into the steaming tub.

"I'm here for the laundry for the Chez Ami," Joanie said.

"I have it here ready for you," Wai-Lee turned the neat pile of linens stacked behind her and lifted them. "I hope they all right."

"I'm sure they will be," Joanie replied.

"Are you all right?" Catherine suddenly asked and Wai-Lee looked up to see her face marred with a concerned frown. "You look…upset."

"I am fine," Wai-Lee replied. It was not the done thing to share with such strangers.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"How's your sister?"

The words were uttered softly and with such sounding of concern, that Wai-Lee felt tears threaten again. When she looked up, the lady from the Gem was blurred in her vision. Embarrassed, she wiped her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Catherine said, seemingly without needing to be told. "Wai-Lee's sister was very ill."

"I'm sorry too," Joanie said.

"Thank you," Wai-Lee replied. She looked up again and saw that the lady from the Gem had suddenly turned white. "You very pale."

"I'm…I'm all right," Catherine said, though Wai-Lee could see she had taken hold of the prostitute's arm. "I just feel…"

"Oh Lord, sit down," Joanie said, directing her to nearby steps. "Can she have some water?" she asked.

"Of course," Wai-Lee filled a cup and handed it to her. The lady from the Gem sipped it gratefully and her colour slowly started to return.

"You need to rest," Joanie said. "She's expecting," she said for Wai-Lee's benefit.

"A happy occasion," Wai-Lee said.

"It will be, I'm sure," Catherine said, her hand resting on her stomach. "I should probably have listened to Al and stayed indoors."

"Come on, I'll make sure you get back safely," Joanie said, helping the lady to her feet with one hand and tucking the linens under her other arm. "Thank you," she said to Wai-Lee.

"You welcome. I hope you get well," she added to the lady from the Gem.

"Thank you," Catherine replied, "and I'm sorry about your sister."

Wai-Lee nodded her thanks as they slowly made their way back down towards the Gem. She turned back to her washing and sighed heavily.

XXXX

"She turned a funny colour and had to sit down," Silas relayed to Al. "The Chink gave her some water and then she made her way back here."

"She can hear you!" Catherine called out from the bedroom. "And she doesn't appreciate being fucking followed…again!"

"She can shut her fucking mouth!" Al called back to her. "And she can listen to her husband in the future when he suggests how she might conduct herself!" He turned back to Silas. "Thank you, Adams, I don't think I'll be requiring you further." Silas hovered for a moment, as though he wanted to say something. "Was there something else?"

"No," he replied, glancing towards the bedroom. "Night, Catherine."

"Traitor!"

When the door had closed behind Silas, Al got up from his desk and walked over to the bedroom door. Catherine was lying on the bed, still fully clothed, her dress unbuttoned almost to her waist, a cool flannel pressed against her forehead.

"I can't believe you did this again," she said tightly.

"Did what?"

"Had me fucking followed!"

"Call it protecting my assets," Al said, moving over to her side of the bed and looking down at her. "Seems I was right to be concerned if Adams' account of events is true."

"It was hot," Catherine protested, "I felt a little faint, I had some water and I was fine."

"So lying prostrate in bed like this with a compress upon your forehead is normal is it?"

"Perhaps for a woman in my condition it is. Never having been knocked up before, I couldn't rightly say. Not to mention this fucking infernal heat…" she pressed the cloth against the side of her face as he continued to stand over her. "Are you just going to stand there and fucking stare at me?"

Al folded his arms across his chest, "Think yourself lucky you find yourself in such a condition that prevents me from taking the back of my hand to you for your insolence."

"Of course. Yes. Consider me counting my fucking blessings," she replied, closing her eyes.

He paused.

"Al…" she sighed and opened her eyes again, "I just need to rest for a little while, that's all. Can't you find something to occupy yourself with until supper time?"

"Will you be coming down for supper?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Tell Jewel to make some of her soup for me."

"Fine," he hovered for a moment longer as she closed her eyes again. "Fine." Leaving the room, he opened the office door and strode along the balcony and down the stairs to where Jewel was heading for the kitchen. "Make Catherine some of your fucking soup," he said by way of greeting.

"A 'please' would be nice," Jewel replied.

Al said nothing and instead headed over to the bar and downed the glass of whisky Dan had poured for him. He turned and surveyed his saloon and the hoopleheads in it. A bunch of them were gathered around the piano singing tuneless songs that were already starting to give him a headache. In the corner, one of the local miners was slumped over a table, clearly having consumed far too much whisky, and there were three or four whores standing in a corner talking and laughing amongst themselves.

"Tell those fucking idiots to shut up, get him out of here and tell them to either get fucking or get out!" he ordered.

"You ok boss?" Dan asked.

Al turned to face him, "Am I still the proprietor of this joint, Dan? Am I still in charge here?"

"Yes sir."

"Then do what I fucking ask!" He snatched the whisky bottle from Dan's hand and poured himself another glass.

He was still in charge of some things.

XXXX

"Hearst's geologist is back in the camp," Dan relayed over supper. "Wolcott. I saw him the other day coming out of that new place Tolliver's whoremistress has got."

"You think Hearst is coming soon, boss?" Johnny asked, glancing across the table at Al.

Al, for his part, wasn't listening, hadn't been listening ever since Catherine had appeared downstairs in time for Jewel to serve supper. Bowls of steaming broth had been placed in front of them which, despite the heat, were welcomed and though he and the others had devoured them with relish, Catherine had simply taken a few mouthfuls and then pushed the remainder around the bowl until Jewel had returned to remove it.

"Sorry Jewel," she had said, "ain't as hungry as I thought."

"Maybe you'll like the beef better," Jewel had replied and Catherine had merely smiled. Now, with a plate of Wu's best beef in front of her, she looked no more inclined to eat than she had previously.

"E.B's been acting awfully strange," Dan said when Al didn't answer Johnny's question. "He's been avoiding coming over here of late and that ain't like him. You think he's up to something boss?"

Catherine drained her water glass, wiped her forehead on the sleeve of her shawl and pushed her chair back from the table. "If nobody minds, I think I'll retire upstairs."

"Sit the fuck back down and eat something," Al said.

"I ain't hungry."

"Do as I fucking say."

"I said, I ain't hungry."

Al threw his cutlery down with a crash, causing the others to jump, leapt from his chair around the table and forcibly pushed her back down into her seat. "If you're fit enough to go gallivanting around Chinks Alley, you're fit enough to sit at this table and fucking eat!" He moved back around to his own seat. "I ain't going to tell you again."

Catherine glared at him, but she lifted her knife and fork and slowly began cutting into the meat. Spearing a piece, she lifted it and placed it into her mouth and began to chew. Al watched as she swallowed and repeated the process another five times, as the others ate in silence, before she put her cutlery back down on her plate again. "May I please be excused?" she asked softly.

Al nodded, his eyes never leaving her as she pushed her chair back again and got to her feet. Slowly, she moved around the table towards the stairs but, instead of going up them, she hurried past them into the kitchen and out in the direction of the privy.

No-one said anything for a long moment after she left, finishing their meal in the same, awkward silence.

"I reckon it's normal," Johnny piped up suddenly.

"Shut the fuck up, Johnny," Dan said hurriedly.

Al pushed his plate away from himself and stood up. "At a convenient moment," he said to Dan, "fetch Doc here."

XXXX

When Wai-Lee returned to her tent that night, she found Jing-Ho in a state of agitation.

"Where have you been?" he asked, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. "I have been looking for you!"

"I went for a walk," she replied, moving out of his grip. "I want to think about Ping-Lee."

"It is too late for Ping-Lee!" he exclaimed. "There are others now!"

"I know…"

"No, you do not know! Chao-Xing…" She froze at the mention of her grandmother. "She is…she has…"

"No…" Wai-Lee said.

Jing-Ho nodded. "It started this afternoon. She has a fever, pain in her stomach and…" he broke off. "She is not the only one. This sickness is touching every one of us."

Wai-Lee sat down heavily, "But how…why?"

"No-one knows. But you must listen to me, Wai-Lee," he sat down in front of her and took her hands in his. "We must be careful with the white folk. They cannot know about this. You must not talk to the woman from the saloon any more."

"I have not told her anything!"

"Then you must not start. Promise me!" Jing-Ho squeezed her hand. "It is too dangerous."

She nodded, "I understand."

XXXX

As night fell, the Gem grew busier as the miners came to enjoy evening delights after a long, hard day at the diggings. Every whore was either fucking or in the process of working towards a fucking and the drink was flowing. It was the way Al liked it. His business and he was in control. Pouring himself another drink, he glanced up towards the closed office door thinking about Catherine and how she hadn't reappeared after retiring earlier to bed.

"You wanted to see me?" Doc said, suddenly appearing beside him.

"Yeah," Al replied, "come with me." He led the other man out of the bar and into an unoccupied room, closing and locking the door behind them.

"What's the concern?"

"Catherine."

Doc put his bag down, "Is she all right?"

"You're the fucking doctor, you tell me!"

"You're concerned about her symptoms?"

"It ain't fucking normal," Al said, walking over to the window. "Now I've seen plenty of whores find themselves with child and this…this ain't fucking normal."

"What specifically…?"

"She's fucking feverish all the time. No fucking energy. Keeps needing to…to sit down and rest…throwing up…" Al turned to his friend. "Tell me that's normal for her condition and I'll waste no more of your fucking time."

"Every woman reacts differently to pregnancy," Doc replied. "Some suffer serious symptoms, which can include nausea and lethargy, and some suffer no ill-effects at all. Catherine's a young, healthy woman…"

"Who can't fucking hardly do anything for herself," Al interrupted, turning back to his friend. "The gimp makes her food she won't touch…" he trailed off, not sure how to put into words how he felt.

"When I examined her yesterday she seemed fine…"

"Well she ain't fucking fine now!"

Doc said nothing.

"Maybe…maybe I'm too fucking old for this…" Al sighed, sitting down heavily.

"Too old for what?"

"This! Caring! If she was a fucking whore I'd be telling her to talk to one of the other fucking whores and get something done about it. I mean, it's bad enough having a pregnant whore without one who can't even stand up properly and at least project an image of being open and willing to fuck…"

"Catherine ain't a whore."

"I know she's not a fucking whore, Doc!" Al exclaimed, getting to his feet. "But lately I wish to God she was so that I wouldn't need to be concerned about a life I fucking put there! You take my meaning?"

"I do."

"Good."

"I can examine her again if you like, but if it's my professional opinion you seek…" Al nodded, "…then I can only say that these symptoms may persist for some time until her body gets used to its new state of impending motherhood and that you most likely ain't going to feel any more reassured until she does."

"So what do you suggest in the meantime?"

"Bullying her ain't going to do either of you any good, that's for sure. Take things calmly. If she feels like eating, let her eat. If she doesn't, don't force her. Make sure she keeps taking fluids and plenty of rest and I'll come and see her in a day or two."

Al sighed, "I'll concede to you as the greater authority on the condition. But if I send for you…"

"Have no doubt that I will be in attendance."

Al nodded his thanks, "Have a drink on your way out." He unlocked the door and let the other man back into the swell of the bar before closing it again and leaning against it.

Al Swearengen didn't like not being in control.

XXXX

"What the fuck is going on in there?!" Dan yelled, banging on the privy door. "Now I gotta go, so you better hurry the fuck up or I swear to the fucking lord that I'll slit your fucking throat whoever you are!" He paused for a response that never came. "Adams, if that's you in there..."

Had the door been unlocked and had he been permitted entry, Dan would have found Catherine atop the privy, her body angled to one side, cheek pressed against the wood, eyes closed, sweat trickling down her body as wave after wave of unstoppable bodily waste flowed out of her.


	7. Chapter 7

June 23rd 1876

Catherine wasn't sure how she had managed to get out of the privy and up to bed. She recalled sitting for what seemed like hours while foul smelling liquid flooded out of her, her body drenched in sweat, the only slight relief coming from pressing her skin against the cool wood of her prison. She had heard Dan banging on the door, demanding entry, but she hadn't been able to utter a reply. Even if she had, what would she have said? The thought of anyone knowing what had happened was almost too much to bear.

Somehow, she had found the strength to make her way back indoors and upstairs without a repeat of what had taken place and without Al making comment on her appearance of lack of hospitality. The Gem had been busy, the piano and singing loud and raucous, the air heavy with cigar smoke. She had moved, almost unseen, amongst the crowds to disappear into her own private oblivion in her bedroom. She had swayed between heat and chills, blankets thrown off of her body only for her to pull them close to her moments later. And her stomach…the grinding pain only succeeded in getting worse. She felt thirsty, so very thirsty, and yet was scared to eat or drink anything lest she require to return to the privy and the horrors of earlier.

When Al came to bed many hours later, she pretended to be asleep, regulating her breathing as best she could as she sensed him stand over her, watching for any inflection on her face. Seemingly satisfied, he had retired beside her, thankfully choosing to remain on his own side of the bed, rather than attempt to touch or hold her as she had feared. She could only begin to imagine his reaction were she to find herself in the same predicament again.

Sleep evaded her. She tossed and turned, sometimes staring at the near wall, sometimes staring at Al's back, sometimes staring at the ceiling hoping that if she lay still she would feel better. She left the bed on numerous occasions to venture out onto the balcony into the stillness of a Deadwood night, and yet nothing soothed her. Nothing made her feel like she knew she should feel.

This could be no normal symptom of pregnancy, for she had known many women to bear children and never suffer this indignation. Every so often, she would let her hand drift to her stomach, imagining the life inside and praying that it was unharmed.

As dawn started to break, she could bear it no longer. A return to the privy was essential, for the pain was a clear indication that something needed to escape. Pulling her shawl around her shoulders, she stole out of the office, along the balcony and down the stairs into the bar where Davie was sleeping. She crossed the floor quietly, hoping no-one would hear her, hoping that the sorry business could be carried out in solitude.

And then it happened.

There was little warning. Only a sharp pain in her stomach and nothing she could do to stop it once it started. A normal, clenching action proved useless as she felt the warm flow cascade down her legs and her body instantly chill.

"Oh God…" she whispered to no-one in particular, knowing that it would be covering the floor where she stood. For a moment she stood, transfixed in horror then she ran, as fast as she could through the kitchen and out into the yard. Throwing open the privy door, she slammed it behind her, hitched up her sodden nightgown and sat atop the hole. It continued to flow relentlessly. Her feet were covered in it and, as she steadied herself against the wall, she could only imagine the trail that would lead to where she hid.

"What's happening to me?" she whispered again, screwing her eyes shut against the pain. "What the fuck is happening?"

XXXX

Jewel always woke early, a by-product of her time in the orphanage where being woken forcefully was not a pleasant experience. She didn't mind if it was still dark or cold, as long as she was awake before anyone thought of coming to her, she knew she was safe.

This particular morning, a noise woke her especially early. It sounded like running footsteps and a door being slammed but with her room next to the kitchen, she knew it could have been anything. She heard the clock in the bar chime six and knew that the boys would soon be demanding their breakfast. Dressing herself was always a chore, but it had been made so much easier since Doc had made her the boot and stopped Al shouting at her about her leg.

Opening the door, she made her way out into the kitchen and was almost immediately confronted by a nasty smell. In the first light of day, she could see what looked like some sort of liquid reflected in a puddle on the floor by the door. Walking over, the aroma grew stronger and she saw to her horror that it was shit. But not normal shit. This shit was pure liquid in consistency and, as she looked closer, continued in a trail towards the back door and out into the yard.

Jewel followed where it led, stopping at the door of the privy. She knew it was probably Dan or Johnny had too much to drink, eaten some of those peaches that she had grown suspicious of and not made it in time.

"Fucking men," she said, making her way over to the door, avoiding stepping in the foul mess. "Dan?" She banged on the door. "Is that you in there?" There was no response yet, straining, she could hear the sound of laboured breathing. "Dan? Open the fucking door!" she banged again. "You've made a fucking mess!" Again, there was no response and she pressed against the door which, to her surprise, was unlocked. "If I come in and see your fucking prick…" The door swung open and the smell hit her like nothing she'd ever smelt before. The dawn light lit on a figure half sat, half collapsed on the floor surrounded by shit.

Catherine looked up, her face deathly pale. "Jewel…"

XXXX

Al had just finished dressing when he heard Jewel's cry for help. Wakening to find Catherine gone from his bed, his first thought had been that her condition had improved and that she had risen early. A quick glance out onto the balcony had left him wanting and assuming that she was downstairs hopefully eating breakfast, made him quicken the pace at which he dressed.

"Dan! Al! Help me!"

The cry was genuine and though he knew not what the cause was, instinct made him respond to it. Throwing open the office door, he saw Jewel jigging around at the bottom of the stairs, wringing her hands.

"What the fuck is it?" he demanded, as a bleary-eyed Dan emerged from his room along the balcony.

"It's Cathy!" Jewel cried.

Without waiting for further information, he ran along the balcony and down the stairs, stopping dead when he saw the mess on the kitchen floor. "What the fuck…?"

"Out there!" she pointed. "Quick!"

He followed her trembling finger out into the yard where the privy door stood open and Catherine sat against it, her head lolling to one side. He moved forward, only to stop suddenly when he saw that she, and the ground she sat on, were covered in shit. "Jesus Christ…" he turned sharply only to slam into Dan who had followed close behind and whose face suddenly turned white at the scene in front of him. "Get a blanket!" he ordered, pushing the other man back into the kitchen when he seemed initially reluctant to move. "And fill that fucking bath!" Turning back, he moved closer to where his wife lay and, ignoring the foul smell now emanating from around her, reached out and touched her chin with his fingers, bringing it up towards him.

Catherine looked up at him, her eyes seemingly huge in her pale face. "Al…I can't…can't stop it…"

"Ssssh," he hushed her gently, knowing it was the only comfort he could offer her in circumstances that he had no fucking idea how to control. "Save your fucking strength." Reaching into his sock, he pulled out his knife and began cutting away at her sodden nightdress.

"What are you…what are you doing?" she murmured.

He didn't reply. Exposing her body brought him no pleasure and as he finished tearing the fabric into two flaps and cutting her arms free from the sleeves, he felt an overwhelming urge to cover her, protect her from a thousand unseen eyes. His gaze flitted to her belly, still showing no obvious sign of the child within her.

"Here boss!" Dan shouted and Al turned in time to see him throw the blanket from a safe distance away, managing to catch it before it hit the ground. Pulling the offensive piece of cloth from under her and throwing it to one side, he wrapped the blanket as best he could around her body and awkwardly lifted her into his arms. As he turned, he saw Jewel was still hovering in the doorway and a couple of the girls had clearly heard the commotion and were standing, staring wide-eyed at the scene before them.

"Is she all right?" Jewel asked, as Al made his way back inside.

"How the fuck would I know?" he replied. "Send someone to get the fucking Doc! And get this shit cleaned up!" Slowly, so as not to stand in any mess, he traversed his way through the kitchen, the bar and upstairs to the office.

"It ain't filled right yet!" Johnny declared upon seeing him in the doorway. "This is just the first lot of water!" He pointed into the bath where a tiny volume of liquid covered the base, "Dolly's getting another bucket load…"

"Fill it up around her," Al said, moving over to the bath and gently depositing Catherine in it, pulling the blanket away in the process and leaving her naked. Almost immediately, she started shivering and he seized a second blanket from atop the bed and draped it around her. "Burn this," he said, tossing the first blanket at Johnny, who hurriedly stepped back to avoid being hit with its foulness. "Cathy? Cathy look at me!" Crouching at the side of the tub, he pulled her face to his. "Open your fucking eyes, Mrs Swearengen."

She did as she was bidden and met his gaze, "I don't know…what's wrong," she said. "I couldn't…couldn't stop it…I'm sorry…"

"Stop fucking apologising," he said, smoothing her hair away from her eyes as Dolly appeared with a fresh bucket and poured its contents into the tub. Catherine started as it hit her and he pulled the blanket tighter around her.

"Boss, maybe you ought to…" Johnny stopped as Al turned to look at him. "I mean you're…well you're…" he gestured towards him and Al knew he would be referring to the fact that Catherine's mess was on his suit. "Maybe I'll just go and see what's keeping Dolly with the rest of that fucking water."

"Maybe you fucking should," Al encouraged as the other man scurried away. Left alone with his wife, he rubbed his thumb gently along her chin as she buried her face into his shoulder. "I knew something was wrong," he said to no-one in particular. "I fucking knew and not even the Doc…" he broke off as Catherine shivered again and vowed that, this time, he would have his answers.

XXXX

Doc was in the bedroom for what seemed like hours and yet, in reality, was mere minutes. Al paced around the office, walking from the door to the balcony and back again, his even stride creating a rhythm in his head that momentarily distracted him from what was transpiring on the other side of the bedroom door. He was no fool. Something was wrong, very wrong and he would wager that the cause of her illness owed less to her pregnancy and more to outside factors. Finally, Doc came out, sliding the door shut behind him. Al stepped towards him and saw that his friend's face was whiter than he had ever seen before and his hands were trembling.

"What is it?" Al asked. "What's wrong with her?"

Doc licked his lips, "I wish to God I was wrong but…"

"Spare me your wishes and give me your diagnosis!"

"It's cholera."

Al paused for a long moment while he processed Doc's words. Cholera? It couldn't be. Not here, not in Deadwood, not Cathy…"Label me a lunatic Doc," he said finally, "but I could have sworn you just said Catherine has cholera."

Doc nodded. "Like I said, I wish…"

"How?" he interrupted him. "There's no cholera in the camp! How the fuck did she get it and, moreover, how did you not recognise it before?"

"It's transmitted from person to person by secretion of faeces. So if one person is infected and their waste gets into food or water which is consumed by a healthy person then infection occurs. As for my recognising it or not…"

"Jewel cooks all the food in this joint and she certainly ain't infected," Al said, "and Cathy doesn't eat anywhere else save for here or the hotel and if it were Richardson carrying the infection E.B would at least have been laid low by now. As for water…" he broke off.

Doc stared at him, "What?"

It suddenly hit him. What was it Adams had said the previous day? "She turned a funny colour and had to sit down. The Chink gave her some water and then she made her way back here."

"The Chink…"

Doc frowned, "What Chink?"

"That fucking Chink! That fucking CHINK WHORE!" Al strode to the office door, threw it open and stormed out onto the balcony where Dan was waiting. "Get Adams and get over to Chinks Alley and get that fucking Chink washerwoman Catherine's been talking to!"

"Why boss? Is there something seriously wrong with Catherine?"

"Just fucking do it!" Al turned back to Doc. "Meantimes, what do we do?"

"We force her to drink water, as much as she can take. The disease causes the victim to dehydrate and then they're too weak to drink themselves. And…and we let her mess herself cause there's no way to stop that, but…"

"What about the child?" Al asked softly.

"I can still hear a strong heartbeat…"

"So it's going to live."

"Al…" Doc shook his head, "I wish I could…"

"This ain't like the plague you mean," Al interrupted. "It ain't like I can send out riders to Cheyenne and Bismarck for a vaccine to cure her."

"No. There's no cure for cholera and it is highly infectious if the right precautions are not taken." Doc stepped closer to him. "Might I suggest closing for business in the short term and moving your girls somewhere else?"

Al stared at him. "You're serious."

Doc nodded. "It would be wise to keep the number of people in the Gem to a minimum. Jewel, Dan, Dolly or another girl of your choosing to help with Catherine's care, and yourself of course."

"Of course." Al pulled distractedly on his lower lip.

"I won't lie to you, Al," Doc said. "I would be no physician, no friend, if I did not tell you that I am fearful of the outcome in Catherine's case."

Al patted his arm, more for his own reassurance than anyone else's. "I know Doc. Christ knows, so am I."

XXXX

"I appreciate this," Al said, though it hurt him to owe Tolliver for anything.

"It's not a problem, Al. The building's standing empty at the moment and if I can be of help to you at this difficult time…" Tolliver trailed off, leaving Al in no doubt that this was a favour that the other man would collect on in time. "It ain't as big as you're used to. Will you be able to operate out of it effectively?"

"Oh my girls can work anywhere," Al replied with false joviality. "Ain't so long ago some of them were working out of a tent."

"A situation I'm sure you're not eager to return to." Tolliver cast a pitying eye on him. "How is Mrs Swearengen? It must be serious to require her isolation."

"Just a precaution Cy, that's all," Al said. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to know the reason for Catherine's incapacitation. If word were to spread that she had cholera, there was no telling what the hoopleheads might do. There was no telling what the other so-called pillars of the camp might do either. Were the situation reversed and some other poor so afflicted, he might not have been above having her driven out of town, or worse. There was no way he was going to allow such a fate to befall Catherine.

"Well, do let me know if I can be of any further assistance." Cy pulled his cigar between his lips and turned back towards the Bella Union.

Al watched him go and then turned back inside the Gem where the girls stood in a nervous huddle at the far end of the room. "Get your things!" He shouted at them. "You're moving to new premises!" They stared at him, wide-eyed, until he glared at them hard enough to make them move.

"You want me to take them, boss?" Johnny asked. "Over to Tolliver's new place, I mean? I can keep an eye on them, make sure they're kept busy."

"No, Johnny," Al sighed, knowing that would be the certain death of his business. "I want you and Dan here. Adams can take them." As if on cue, the other man emerged from the whores' room and hurried towards him. "I take it you and Dan carried out my orders?"

"She's in there," Silas gestured back with his head. "But I don't understand…"

"You don't fucking need to understand," Al replied sharply. "I want you to take the whores to Tolliver's empty building near Chinks Alley. They'll need to operate out of there for a while until Catherine recovers and I'll need you to oversee it."

"What about Dan?"

"I need him here."

Silas caught his arm as he made to climb the stairs. "Is Catherine going to be all right? Is it the child?"

"Loosen your grip on me," Al said. "Them that know the less remain all the more fortunate."

"God damn it, she's my friend!"

"And God damn it, she's my wife!" Al roared. "And I'll remind you to do as you're fucking asked!" Silas glared at him for a long moment then, seeming to think better of it, lowered his gaze and nodded. "Good."

"And the Chink?" Silas asked.

Al glanced towards the whores' room. "She can stay in there for now." Without engaging Silas further, he climbed the stairs back to his office. Inside the bedroom, Doc was packing his case up, his expression still grim.

"I've left laudanum," he said, gesturing to the bottle on the dressing table, "to be administered as and when she requires it. There's a bucket of fresh water by the bed which she must be forced to drink. I'll be back in a couple of hours to check on her."

Al said nothing. He walked over to the bed and looked down at where Catherine lay, her hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her, her face stark white against the bedclothes. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he reached out and took her hand in his.

The action caused her to stir. "Al…" she looked up at him, eyes half-closed, "Al…"

"I'm here."

"What's…what's happening to me?"

"You're going to be fine, Cathy. Nothing to worry about." There seemed little point in telling her the diagnosis, for all the good it would do her. As he watched, her eyes closed again and sleep overtook her. He stayed, holding her hand uselessly in his. Ministering to the sick was not his forte. Putting the sick out of their misery was and, for a brief second, Reverend Smith's face flashed before his eyes. She could be deadly infectious. Perhaps she had already passed the disease on. Perhaps others in the camp had already contracted it from the same Chink. The kindest thing would be to slip one of the pillows from under her head, place it over her mouth and nose and spare her the agony of a slow, lingering death.

He dropped her hand suddenly and got to his feet, feeling his heart racing in his chest. He staggered back against the wall, gripping onto the dressing table to stop himself from falling to the ground. No knife wound could have been as deadly. If he had thought it to be his comeuppance, he had been wrong. This was to be his pain, his agony. The cruel revenge for what he had done, what he had specifically ordered to be done, was to watch the one person he had then wanted to hurt the most be ripped from him. The realisation was like a crushing weight on his chest, pressing down, taking away his breath…

"No," he said, fighting against it. "No this is not the time." He looked at her. "This is not your time, Catherine. You fight this. You fucking fight this with everything you have and I swear to whatever God there may be…I will fight with you."


	8. Chapter 8

June 24th 1876

"You're a fucking cocksucker Al Swearengen!"

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

"And if I refuse? What will you do to me, husband? Will you strike me again? Leave me broken and bleeding on the ground? Or will you simply torture me with your words?"

"Little can I help it if your mug is ripe for a fucking good slap, Nettie!"

"Then do your worst! Strike me! Appease the anger and frustration that burns inside you! Let everyone in this fucking hellhole know that Al Swearengen can control his wife!"

"Al...? Al!"

Al jerked awake suddenly and looked up into Johnny's face. For a moment, he couldn't remember exactly where he was, then the memories came flooding back to him and he recalled sitting down at his desk late the previous evening to do the whisky order. It had been the one thing he was sure would distract him from what else was going on. But sleep had obviously overtaken him and dreams of people and places long forgotten haunted him.

His eyes darted to the half-closed bedroom door. "What's happening?"

"You fell asleep," Johnny nodded knowingly.

Al glared at him. "That fact hadn't escaped my attention." He got to his feet and moved over to the door as Jewel appeared carrying a bundle of foul smelling sheets.

"She messed herself again," she explained. "That's the third time since last night."

"Well what the fuck do you want me to do about it? It's your job to help care for her." he peered through the door to where Catherine lay in bed, her face turned away from him towards the wall. "Where's Dolly?"

"She left."

He turned and stared at her, "She what?"

"Left," Jewel repeated. "She went to the new place. Said she couldn't handle the stink."

"Stupid, fucking whore," Al muttered. "Get those sheets cleaned and get someone over to the Jew's place to fetch Trixie here! Only damn whore I can rely on." He turned back to his desk as Jewel scurried away out of the office and, for a fleeting moment, thought he could almost see the spectre of Nettie, standing in the corner of the room, mocking him.

"One wife down, Al," she had said upon their parting. "How many more must endure the agonies of being Mrs Swearengen?"

"Anything I can do, boss?" Johnny's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Unless you know of a cure for cholera, Johnny," Al said, a note of wistful sadness in his tone, "you serve little purpose here."

XXXX

"What the fuck's going on?" Trixie demanded a half hour later as she crossed the floor of the bar towards him. "Dan muttered something about Catherine being sick and closing the Gem?" She looked around and took in the deserted saloon. "I guess he wasn't joking."

"She's got cholera," Al said bluntly. He saw Trixie visibly pale and step back slightly, but he knew there was no point in pretending or trying to dress it up as something it wasn't. He drained his coffee cup. "I need your help caring for her."

"You're asking me for help?"

"Spare me your incredulity and give me your answer."

"I'm surprised I have a choice in the matter…"

"Trixie…"

"But yes, I will help you," she replied. "Not for you, but for her. Just how the fuck did she get cholera anyways?"

"Reckon it was from that Chink washerwoman she's become so friendly with of late," Al said, glancing towards the room where said Chink remained imprisoned. "I'll deal with that matter in due course but for now…the main thing is bringing her through."

"Doc say she's got a chance?"

Al stared at her, silently communicating to her that that sort of question was not to be asked. Of course he had thought it, had, in fact, thought of little else. But to hear his own fears voiced so openly was something he was not ready for.

Trixie seemed to understand, for she merely nodded her head and then made her way to the stairs. He watched her walk across the balcony and in through the office door and was grateful for her easy acquiescence. A momentary pang of regret for past indiscretions against her hit him, but it was quickly displaced as Silas approached from the direction of the whores' room.

"What are you going to do with her?" he asked hurriedly.

"If you're referring to the Chink…"

"I am."

"Then I ain't decided yet. That she is responsible for this affliction I have little doubt and, being found guilty, will require to face my consequences whatever I decide them to be."

"Don't do anything rash," Silas warned. "Taking your grief out on the Chink ain't going to…" he trailed off suddenly as Al's face hardened.

"I ain't grieving, Adams. Catherine ain't dead."

The obvious, final, word was left hanging, unspoken, in the air, but Al was thankfully distracted from further discussion by Doc coming through the door looking troubled.

"There's talk of a breakout amongst the Chinese," he offered without prompting.

"Then my suspicions are well founded. She got this from that Chink whore." He turned back to Silas with muted vindication. "You still wish to caution me?"

The other man shook his head.

"Good, for if Catherine dies, that Chink dies too."

XXXX

Wai-Lee sat in the corner of the room, her back against the stone wall, her body trembling. Night had passed since she had been brought here and she was no nearer to finding out why. The men had approached her at the washhouse from out of the shadows and she had barely been able to understand what they were saying before one of them had clamped his hand over her mouth, lifted her up and carried her to this place. Rigid with fear, she had been unable to scream and had no idea if anyone had noticed, or cared, about her plight.

Jing-Ho...he must be wondering what had happened to her and yet, he hadn't come for her. No-one had. Why wouldn't they have come? They must have missed her by now. And her grandmother…so ill, possibly dying, from the terrible disease that had taken Ping-Lee…

Tears coursed down her cheeks. What could she have possibly done to merit being held prisoner? She had done nothing but launder the wares brought to her by the lady from the Gem and offer her water when she had been unwell. And yet she feared the lady's husband, and what he was capable of doing.

She was frightened, so terribly frightened.

XXXX

Trixie submerged a flannel in cool water, squeezed it and then rested it atop Catherine's forehead. The other woman barely stirred as rivulets of water trickled down the side of her head to pool on her pillow. Gently, Trixie wiped her forehead, face, neck and top of her chest in an effort to combat the ever increasing fever. She had been shocked when she had finally seen Catherine and horrified by Jewel's tales of uncontrollable bouts of waste that led to two and three changes of linen a night.

But the thing that had frightened Trixie most was the look of pain and helplessness that she had seen in Al's eyes when he had given her the diagnosis. Such emotions had never been associated with him before. Anger, fury, rage – yes. She had seen them all and more besides. But this was different.

The creak of a floorboard made her look up to see Silas standing in the doorway.

"Shouldn't you be over at the new place?" She asked. "Dan said you were in charge of the girls."

"Reckon they can manage without me for a while," he replied, hovering at the foot of the bed. "How is she?"

"Not good."

He shook his head, "Can't believe how quickly it took hold of her. Her with child and all...reminds me of..." he trailed off suddenly.

Trixie looked up, "Reminds you of what?"

He opened his mouth, as if to say more, then deliberately closed it again. "It don't matter. So long ago now, anyways."

Catherine stirred suddenly, her cracked lips parted and a faint noise came from between them. Trixie placed the flannel back in the bowl and bent forward to catch the words.

"What did she say?" Silas asked.

Trixie straightened back up and swallowed hard. "She said Daddy."

XXXX

Al had known it would only be a matter of time before rumours started to spread about what was really wrong with Catherine, particularly in light of Doc's revelation. No-one was quarantined so strongly for a minor ailment and he was, in fact, surprised that it took until almost sundown for Seth to venture to the Gem. He saw him approaching from his vantage point on the balcony, striding down the thoroughfare, his gaze flitting upwards as he drew nearer, transmitting an unspoken request for communication.

"I understand Mrs Swearengen ain't well," he said, when Al met him at the front door.

"You understand correctly."

"I also understand..."

"Speak plainly Bullock, without the need for adding extra frills to the content of your conversation. It only serves to fucking bore me."

"Then I'll speak plainly. I'm told she has cholera."

Even though he was well aware of it, had rolled the word around in his mouth ever since Doc had first uttered it to him, there was something about it that still had the power to wind Al.

"I won't question your sources but simply tell you that they are accurate. She does have cholera," he said. For all of Seth's apparent knowledge on the subject, he found himself gratified by the fleeting look of horror that crossed the sheriff's face. "But she's contained within and my business is closed, so you've no fear on that score."

"My concern, despite your obvious thought to the contrary, is for Mrs Swearengen," Seth replied. "But seeing as you raised the subject, do you know the source of the infection?"

"Doc says there's rumours of an outbreak in Chinamens' Alley," Al replied, carefully omitting any reference to Wai-Lee, or the fact she remained prisoner inside. "Catherine takes the linens to the washhouse there. A few days ago, she took ill and drank some water that was offered to her."

"Offered by a Chink?"

"It would appear so."

Seth paused, "But if she had taken ill prior to going to the washhouse, then how…?"

"She took ill due to a condition in which she found herself prior to being infected," Al interrupted, growing weary of the conversation. "A condition which renders a woman liable to fatigue and general malaise for approximately nine months or so. A condition I am responsible for. Need I elaborate further on this part of the tale?"

"No," Seth replied. "Though under the circumstances, I'll refrain from offering my congratulations."

Al stepped closer to him, "I would appreciate," he lowered his voice, "if as few people as possible were aware of Catherine's affliction. I ain't supposing anything but there's a number in this camp who might take the view that those struck down, be they Chink or be they white, should be sacrificed for the good of the camp. Time past, I may have been one of them but the present situation lends me to defend and protect what is mine, regardless of the cost."

Seth nodded. "No-one will hear of it from me. But there's little that can be kept secret in this camp for any prolonged period of time."

"I understand that," Al nodded.

"Then we understand each other." Seth looked up at the balcony. "If she is able to receive them, please give Mrs Swearengen my best wishes."

"I will." Al watched as he made his way back along the thoroughfare towards his own home, no doubt grateful that he had a wife untouched by sickness to greet him.

When the other man had disappeared from sight, he stepped back inside the Gem, closing and locking the door behind him, the echo reverberating around the room. At the far corner, through the door into the kitchen, he could see Jewel limping from counter to counter as she prepared the evening meal. Trixie was still upstairs with Catherine and the boys were minding the girls at their temporary place of business. There was no-one to stop him, no-one to caution him.

Al made his way across the bar and down the corridor to the whores' room where he knew the Chink was held. The key hung in the outside of the lock and he twisted it gently, feeling the mechanism turn under his fingers, and pushed the door open.

XXXX

Doc lifted Catherine's left eyelid, peered into her eye and then repeated the same action with the right. Sighing, he sat back on the bed and took his patient's hand in his own.

"Is she worse?" Trixie asked from the corner of the room.

"She ain't no better," he replied, glancing at the bucket of water sat by the bed. "She won't drink?"

"I've tried, but every time I try to get her to take any, she either spills it down the side of her face or she won't take it at all. I don't know what else to do."

"It ain't your fault."

Trixie shuffled her feet, "She's dying, ain't she?"

Doc stood up and turned to face her, "I believe so."

"Ain't there anything you can do?"

"Besides prescribing laudanum for any pain she has and encouraging her to take fluids, no. There's no cure for this and I wish to God there was." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I saw men, some younger than Catherine, die from this terrible disease during the war. It robs a person of their very being and leaves them nothing but a shell." He shook his head. "Of all the things that could have befallen her…"

"I'm worried about Al," Trixie said, picking at the corner of the quilt. "He ain't going to take any of this well."

"He already ain't taking it well. Especially if, as I suspect, he has that poor Chinese washerwoman locked up downstairs."

"He can't kill her," Trixie said, her tone betraying her lack of conviction. "I mean, I know what he is but he can't…"

"Can't he?" Doc said, looking her square in the eye. "I believe he can, Trixie, and, what's more, I believe he will."

XXXX

"Boss!"

Al turned as he was about to step inside the room, to see Dan hurrying across the bar towards him. Slowly, he stepped back, pulled the door closed and locked it again, leaving the key dangling in the keyhole.

Dan stopped beside him and glanced at the closed door, "Everything ok, boss?"

"As well as can be expected," Al replied. "State your business and then leave me to mine."

"Merrick's outside. He took hold of me on my way over here from the new place and said he urgently needed to speak with you."

"Need I even try to guess what the nature of our conversation might be?"

Dan shrugged, "I got no idea, but I reckon it might be about what's happened to Catherine."

Al shook his head at the sometimes obvious stupidity of those he kept closest to him. "Check upstairs and see how Doc's doing while I appease our resident reporter." Crossing the bar, he opened the front door and stepped outside, to observe Merrick shifting from foot to foot and glancing around nervously.

"Afraid you may have been followed?"

"I've been troubled by some rumours," Merrick said, keeping his voice low and ignoring Al's obvious sarcasm.

"And what rumours might those be?"

"That there is an outbreak of cholera in the camp."

Al kept his face impassive, "Then I suggest you direct your attention away from here and towards Chinamens' Alley."

"Then it's true."

"I don't frequent the area so I couldn't rightly say." Al made to step back inside. "Now if you don't mind…"

"The rumours also suggest that Mrs Swearengen is afflicted."

Al turned back to face the newspaper man, who at least had the good grace to look unsettled. "And who the fuck suggested that, our esteemed Sheriff? Not even ten minutes have passed since I conversed with him on the very subject!"

Merrick shifted his feet, "I don't recall Sheriff Bullock…"

"The gossip in this camp is worse than at a ladies fucking quilting circle! Whatever condition Catherine may, or may not have, should be of little importance to the fucking hoopleheads in this camp, some of them not fit enough to clean up her shit!" Al snapped.

"Then….she does have cholera?" Merrick concluded, averting his eyes.

Al stepped closer to him. "One word of such an accusation makes it into print, Merrick, and I swear to God I will hunt you down and slit your throat myself."

"I have a duty to report such things to the camp. Matters of public health…"

Al turned away before he had to listen to anything further, slamming the door closed in the other man's face.

"Her father would be most distraught!"

Al threw the door open again as Merrick's word carried though to him. "Her father has no place here! Unless your memory has deserted you, he lay down in his bed and left her to survive on her own! So I hardly think that Travis McCord's feelings on the subject are in any way pertinent!"

"He's still her father," Merrick replied.

Al paused for a moment to take in the other man's words and marvel at the fact that this was the first time he had ever seen the newspaper man challenge him.

"Then for her father's sake," he said finally, "print not one word of her affliction."

Merrick nodded. "I am most saddened," he said, as he turned back towards the newspaper office.

"So am I," Al said softly to himself. "So am I."


	9. Chapter 9

June 25th 1876

Morning found Al leaving the safe confines of the Gem, crossing the thoroughfare and making his way towards the outskirts of the camp. It was a journey he had realised he had to make and wanted to do so before the heat of the midday sun was upon them and before anyone really noticed he was missing. As he passed the hotel, he briefly thought about how long it had been since he had seen E.B. It was unheard of for the hotelier not to try and involve himself in the day to day comings and goings of Al's life and his absence would have been cause for concern were Al not preoccupied with other, darker thoughts.

He had sat by Catherine's bedside the previous night, allowing Trixie some much needed rest from her nursing, watching every inflection on his wife's face as she silently battled her own demons. For the most part she lay still, a frown creasing her brow every now and then. Occasionally, however, she would stir, shift her body one way or another and cry out whilst in the grip of dreams the likes of which he could only imagine. He tried to remind himself how only days earlier he had willed her to live, promised to fight with her, but as the hours ticked by, he felt the cold hand of realisation grip his heart.

She would die. Die and take the child with her.

As dawn had broken and Trixie had arrived to relieve him, rather than rest himself he elected to make the journey and face the demon he knew lurked in the shadows of the room. The silent presence that he felt behind him. The draft on his neck, despite the enduring heat. The one person whose name had yet to be mentioned. As he drew nearer his destination, the morning sounds of the camp faded behind him and, upon making his final ascent up the rocky path, the only thing he could hear was the sound of his own breathing.

"As you sit on your eternal throne of judgement and watch us all, I wonder what you might be thinking," he said as he approached the grave that was to be the focus of his attention. "Do the dead find it amusing to watch the living suffer? Do you laugh to yourselves as you watch us try desperately to save the life of someone the fate of whom you know better?" He stopped and looked down at the wooden headstone. "You were my oldest and truest friend and yet I have never hated you more than I do at this fucking moment. You, who did nothing but lie down and succumb to your own ailments, now wish to take her with you? You, who only ever confessed to me during those terrible weeks after Evelyn died that it would be so much easier if she had never been born, now seek to have your wish realised?"

He kicked the dry earth sharply with the toe of his boot. "You have no fucking right! No fucking right to dictate anything now! You, weak and pathetic! What would you have done for her? When she knifed that cocksucker in the back, when she watched Kitty die of the same affliction that took her mother, when she was faced with Magistrate Claggett and his lustful glances, when she tried to destroy herself over wounding me...what would you have done for her?! "

The question was carried into the silence of the still morning air.

"Perhaps this was not the future you would have envisaged for her. Perhaps you would rather she had chosen a more suitable match from within the camp but this is the future she has chosen and you should respect that rather than call her to your side!" He cocked his head to one side. "Do you turn in your cold grave when you watch us together? Do you think it vile and distasteful that I, who watched her grow from child to woman, now claim her as my own? Do you curse me from your lofty vantage point on high when my hands touch her body or my lips touch hers?"

Al felt a shiver run through him and ran his hand over his eyes. He stared at the headstone, silent and unmoving before him.

"She carries my child, Travis. My child. Your grandchild! And don't think for one moment I don't regret putting it there, for then perhaps she would never have taken unwell and been infected by the Chink whore...so if you seek to assign blame for the sorry turn of events then place it at my door for I welcome it! Have the Lord smite me down but don't, in your selfish fervour, insist that she pay the price for my transgressions!"

"You know me," he pointed at the grave. "You know the man I was when wed to Nettie and I am sure you believe me to still be that man. I know that you will have seen past events I have put into motion but I tell you now that if I could change time...if I could go back..." he heard his voice start to shake as the real reason for his pain came to the surface, "I would not have asked Dan to undertake the task I assigned him. And that is my regret. My pain. Mine. I must live with the knowledge that I should be punished for such an act. So I ask you to reconsider whatever plan you have concocted to bring her to you and to fucking spare her!"

"Mr Swearengen?"

Al turned sharply at the interruption into his diatribe and was surprised to see Alma standing a few feet behind him, her expression a mixture of uncertainty and concern. "Mrs Ellsworth," he greeted her, rubbing his hand over his face, relieved that at least his voice sounded stronger than he felt yet wondering how much of his soliloquy she had been privy to.

"I apologise if I interrupted your...conversation with Mr McCord," she said, gesturing to the headstone.

"Not at all, I was just…conversing with the dead."

"I saw your wife visit her father's grave a week or so ago, but I don't believe I've ever seen you up here."

"That's because I choose to leave the dead as they are – dead – unless, as now, such a visit is warranted."

Alma approached him slowly. "I understand from Mr Ellsworth that Mrs Swearengen is unwell."

"She is."

"May I ask if it's serious?"

"Serious enough," Al replied. "Serious enough to warrant me leave the sanctity of my business and travel here to beg a pile of earth for mercy." He glanced back at Travis' grave. "Not that I think he's fucking listening."

"I'm very sorry," Alma said. "Please pass my regards to her."

"Were she to be fucking awake I would gladly do so, Mrs Ellsworth," Al replied, shivering again. "But seeing as she ain't, I'll simply accept them from you on her behalf." He jutted with his chin over her shoulder. "You come to visit your late husband?"

Alma turned briefly to follow his gaze before turning back. "Yes. Sometimes…often…one feels the need to show respect. To ask for forgiveness. Guilt, Mr Swearengen, can be a most destructive feeling."

Al swallowed hard and glanced back in the direction of the Gem. "I couldn't agree more."

XXXX

Wai-Lee froze as the door to the room opened and a man appeared holding a tray. She recognised him as one of the men she had seen when she had first been brought to the Gem, but he wasn't one of the men who had physically taken her prisoner. She kept her back against the wall, watching as he approached the centre of the room and placed the tray down revealing a plate filled with what looked like bacon and eggs and mug of steaming hot coffee.

"Thought you might be hungry," the man said, his voice low and gentle. She stared at him, unsure what to do. Perhaps there was something in the food, something that might hurt her. Part of her reasoned that she should accept nothing and yet, as she looked at the food before her, her stomach contracted and growled. "It ain't poisoned," he said, as though reading her mind.

Slowly, she pulled herself onto her knees and crawled across the floor, then pulled the tray close to her and lifting the cutlery, began to devour it hungrily. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the man watching her and she stopped suddenly, embarrassed and afraid.

"Please eat," he encouraged her. She did as she was bidden, clearing the plate and then draining the coffee cup. "I'm Silas Adams," he added when she was finished.

Wai-Lee stared at him. He seemed pleasant enough, perhaps even willing to tell her what was going to happen to her. "Why am I here?" she asked.

Silas shifted uncomfortably. "My boss's wife is sick. He reckons she caught it from you."

"I am not sick," Wai-Lee replied.

"No, but other Chink folks are. They got the sickness and now my boss's wife has it too. The only way she could have got it was when she brought the linens to you. She was unwell and you gave her water?"

Wai-Lee nodded, "Just a small cup. She was going to fall down."

Silas nodded. "The sickness is in the water."

It all suddenly made sense to her. Why Ping-Lee had grown steadily worse, even when they had been caring for her, making her drink cupfuls of water. She hadn't known. None of them had known.

"Your boss," she said slowly. "He is very angry?"

Silas sighed heavily, "Yes."

XXXX

"Al? Mr Swearengen?"

Al turned as he approached the door of the Gem and saw Joanie hurrying towards him, followed closely by Charlie. Dreading more questions about Catherine, he addressed them formally. "Miss Stubbs. Mr Utter."

"How is Catherine?" Joanie asked. "I ain't seen her for days and I know she ain't well."

"She's as well as can be expected under the circumstances."

"Is it true she has cholera?"

Al felt himself bristle at the word. "I don't know where..."

"It's in the Pioneer," Joanie said, holding up the day's edition of the paper. "I mean, she ain't named but..."

Al took it from her and followed her pointed finger to Merrick's lead story, neatly placed under the headline CHOLERA COMES TO DEADWOOD. Several lines in, the writer spoke of how "the wife of a prominent Deadwood saloon owner is rumoured to be one of the first to have become infected."

Turning, he glared at the blank windows of the newspaper office, wishing he could see Merrick's face if only so he had an excuse to smash said windows. "You can't believe everything you fucking read."

"So, it ain't true?" Charlie asked.

Al turned back and met his gaze. A lie would be useless, serve no purpose other than to deny what he knew everyone in camp would eventually conclude. But unlike when he had spoken to Alma, he found himself unable to confirm the truth, preferring the conclusion to be drawn.

Charlie nodded as his silence, "I understand."

"Good Lord," Joanie breathed.

"If you'll excuse me..." Al turned towards the door of the Gem.

"I...uh...I found this for you," Charlie said, causing him to turn back to see the other man holding out a small paper booklet. "I made some enquiries as you asked...I wasn't sure if you still wanted it."

Al took it from him, his eyes immediately drawn to the name Tiffany & Co on the front page. It was the 'Blue Book' he had asked Charlie to source a lifetime ago when he had felt inspired to present Catherine with a token of his affection and apology for his neglect of her. It hardly seemed necessary now, but he nodded his thanks.

"Can she accept visitors?" Joanie asked, as he made to turn away again.

"Best not," he replied, over his shoulder. "It ain't worth it."

XXXX

"There's at least three more cases of whites contracting the disease in the camp," Doc relayed that evening as he carried out his usual check on Catherine. "They're all customers of the Chinese washhouse."

"The case against her grows stronger hour by hour," Al mused, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a bottle of whisky. He poured two glasses but Doc shook his head by way of refusal. "And soon everyone will know thanks to fucking Merrick. How much longer?"

"Until what?"

"Until she fucking dies!" he snapped, downing both glasses in quick succession. "Until her suffering ends and mine truly begins!"

"There's no way to tell…"

"You must know! You examine her every fucking day! Does she seem worse to you? The same? You might as well tell me the truth, Doc, for sympathetic lies only end up doing the worse damage."

Doc sat down in the chair opposite Al's desk and rubbed his head. "In my professional opinion, she grows worse every time I see her. The fact that she ain't even conscious any more, unable to eat or take fluids, I…" he splayed his palms, "I don't know what to tell you, Al. Days, weeks…I just don't know."

"God spare us all for it being weeks," Al said, downing another glass. "I thought before that the kindest end may be a pillow across her face. Put an end to her suffering before it's too late. Yet, would such an act of perceived mercy alleviate the pain in my own chest? Or would it simply rest uneasy on me that my wife and child had died by my own hand?"

Doc stared at him, "I would caution you against administering any kind of perceived mercy, be it on Catherine or others concealed beneath us."

"And have me do what instead? Sit by Catherine's bedside and watch what I have already destroyed suffer more?"

"None of this is your doing."

"No?" Al waved the bottle at him. "My ring on her finger, my prick in her pussy, my child in her belly. Were we never to have wed none of these events would have transpired and had I revealed to her the truth you so ardently advocated I reveal these months ago after she near gutted me, more than likely she would have long fled the camp before ever meeting that Chink whore."

Doc looked at the ground. "These are all past events, Al. Ain't nothing you can do to change what's been and gone."

"Ain't nothing I can do to change what's coming either, if your word is to be taken as true." Without even bothering to pour the liquid into glasses, Al simply drank from the bottle.

"I'll bid you goodnight," Doc said, getting to his feet, "and return in the morning."

"I'll be here," Al replied, "and so the fuck will she."

XXXX

Trixie climbed the stairs from the bar to the office carrying a fresh bowl of water and a fresh set of linens in readiness for the night ahead. Where she had once climbed the stairs with vigour, determined to do what she could to save Catherine, every step now felt like one step closer to doom. Pushing open the office door, she saw Al sat at his desk, staring drunkenly at a near-empty bottle of whisky in front of him. Ignoring him, she made her way into the bedroom where Catherine had pushed the covers off of herself and was lying on her back, her nightdress stuck to her sweat-drenched body. For a moment, Trixie stared at her, unable to believe that after only a few short days, the other woman could look so undernourished.

She placed the linens on the floor and pulled her chair closer to the bed where she gently pulled Catherine over onto her back and started sponging her down. The other woman offered no resistance, her eyes remaining firmly closed as they always did now.

"The Jew and Bullock are asking for you," she said, talking as she always did about events in the camp. "Harry Manning too. Reckon he's still sweet on you, though I have noticed of late that Milly Lewis, the flower girl, has been giving him the benefit of her glances. He could do a lot worse I reckon. Nice girl, nice family…" she drew the cloth over Catherine's face. "Bullock says his wife is happy to start teaching the children soon too, just like you suggested apparently. Not just a pretty face, Cathy."

She looked up at the sound of footsteps to see Al leaning against the doorframe, the bottle still in his hand. "You look tired," she observed softly.

Al stared at her, "You think fucking talking to her's going to make a fucking bit of difference?"

"It can't hurt. You don't know that she can't hear us." Trixie opened the buttons on Catherine's nightdress and ran the cloth gently down her chest. "Don't you talk to her when you sit with her?"

"Don't right know what I'd say."

"Anything that comes into your head, or your heart." She glanced over at the pile of soiled sheets in the corner of the room. "Sit with her just now and I'll take those to be laundered. The rate she keeps messing herself at, we're going to need them." She placed the bowl of water on the floor, got to her feet and moved around the bed, past Al towards the linens.

As she passed him, Al reached out and took hold of her wrist, pulling her back out of the bedroom towards the balcony doors.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Trixie demanded, as he pushed her back against the closed doors and pressed his body against her. "Al, stop! What are you doing?"

"Feeling," he mumbled, his face buried in her neck. "Need to feel...something..."

"Don't!" she chastised, pushing him away from her. But he grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him, one hand going to her waist, the other to her throat. "Al...Al!" she pushed him away again, more determinedly this time so that he stumbled backwards in his inebriation. "This would be a fucking mistake and you know it!"

"I need to fuck..." he said, drunkenly moving towards her again.

"No, you don't!" she moved out of his way and regarded him steadily. "That ain't going to solve nothing and ruin everything!"

"Trixie..." his tone hinted at a threat.

"Al," she countered him. "It ain't my embraces you want and need. It's hers. And when she wakes up...when she wakes up...she ain't going to thank you if she knows you've bedded me. I know how you feel about her even if you won't admit it to yourself and I ain't letting you throw away what you have when there's still a chance."

"There's no fucking chance."

"Well there won't be if you keep talking like that," she took his arm and gently led him over to his desk and into his chair. "I'll get Jewel to bring you up some strong coffee."

"I went to her Daddy's grave today," he said, as she made for the door. "Begged him not to fucking take her. Told him that if anyone should go it should be me."

Trixie smiled gently at him, "Right now, no-one's going anywhere." She stepped out and closed the door behind her, leaning against it briefly and letting out a long breath. It had been a long time since she had been in such a situation with Al and the old fears still lurked under the surface. His fist against her jaw, his boot against her throat…she shuddered as she made her way downstairs to the bar. And yet, she knew he had only been seeking out the familiar, or rather, the only familiar there was when everything else was gone.

"Coffee for Al," she said to Jewel, who was standing at the bar, "and make it good and strong."

"I only make strong coffee," Jewel replied.

"He drunk?" Dan asked, as Trixie rubbed her hand over her face.

"Can you fucking blame him?"

"No, but I guess I…." Dan broke off as Wu suddenly appeared at the head of the corridor leading to the whores' rooms. "Holy Christ…"

"Swidgen!" Wu shouted. "Swidgen…Wu….meet!"

"It ain't a good time right now, Wu," Dan said, walking over to him.

"Meet now!"

"No! Al ain't receiving visitors. Catherine ain't well and he ain't interested in whatever's going on that you ain't happy about."

"Wu, meet Swidgen!"

"No! Why don't you head on back to Chinamens' Alley and when Al's up to it…"

"Wu…Wai-Lee!"

Dan paused. "What the fuck did you say?"

"Wu…Wai-Lee! Meet Swidgen!" Wu was growing more agitated by the moment. "Wai-Lee!"

"What's he talking about?" Trixie asked. "What's Wai-Lee?"

Dan turned to her, "It's the female Chink Al's got locked up. The one who gave Catherine the cholera."


	10. Chapter 10

"Do I make to you now my confession?" Al asked, as he stood by Catherine's bedside, swaying slightly, though feeling more sober with every passing moment. The whisky bottle was still in his hand. "Do I tell you the truths I've kept from you til now, or do I let you go to your grave believing me to be a better man than I am?" He put the bottle down beside the bed and sank into Trixie's vacant chair. "One truth you should already know, despite my indifference towards speaking it, is that before this cursed illness reduced you to this, when I looked upon you, when your smile rested upon me, when your breath quickened under me and your body opened to me, I discovered feelings hitherto unearthed in me. Feelings, I admit, I was not practiced at disclosing. Feelings that were never present in my first venture into matrimony, yet which I have found burning within me since the moment I first laid hands on you. I find myself regretting the fact that more time was not spent telling you of this. I suppose...we always think we will have time."

"I do not," he said, pointing at her, "give up the hope that you will open your eyes and come back to me but if you should choose to move on," he paused, "I hope you will take this truth with you. That, and another which I find myself compelled to reveal to you, and that being the truth behind what really happened to you in that alleyway all those months ago."

He lifted the bottle and drained the last remnants of liquid, as though seeking courage from its fire. Placing it back on the floor, he leaned forward in the chair and took her hand in his. "Please know, that I regret what I am about to tell you as much as it is possible for a man to regret anything he does in life. I ask of you, in this life and the next, that you keep your judgment as soft as possible." He took a deep breath, "The night upon which you were attacked..."

"Boss?" Dan appeared suddenly at the door.

"I'm occupied," Al replied, irritated by the interruption.

"I know and I apologise, but Wu's downstairs and he's kicking up one hell of a fuss."

"I ain't interested in whatever it is he's complaining about now. In case you hadn't noticed, I have more pressing matters at hand."

"It's just that, well, he was talking about the Chink you've had us hold downstairs..."

Al's head snapped up, "Saying what?"

Dan shrugged, "Saying nothing that any of us can fucking understand. You're the only person able to hold a conversation with him. He just kept saying her name, over and over."

"Jesus fucking Christ..." Al got to his feet and moved to the door. "Stay where you are," he said, turning back to look at Catherine. "I ain't done yet."

XXXX

Wu was standing with his arms folded, swaying from foot to foot as Al made his way down the stairs towards him. Johnny stood at the bar, Silas sat a few feet away. Trixie was nowhere to be seen.

"Evening Wu," Al greeted him.

"Swidgen," Wu stepped forward. "Swidgen...Wai-Lee!"

Al glanced around, "Let's go somewhere more private, shall we?" He gestured for Wu to follow him into one of the unoccupied rooms and closed the door behind them. "Now what the fuck is it?"

"Wai-Lee!" Wu exclaimed again, pointing at Al. "Swidgen...Wai-Lee!"

"If you're asking if she's here then the answer is yes, and she's going nowhere until events take their course."

"Wai-Lee..." Wu began making nonsensical gestures with his hands that Al patiently watched until he finished by mimicking hands around a throat.

"Very fucking clever, Wu," he said. "You're asking me if I intend killing her. Well the answer is, I ain't decided yet."

"Swidgen?"

"Swidgen ain't decided yet."

Wu pulled a piece of paper and pencil from his pocket and began drawing a figure standing next to what Al assumed was a washing tub. "Wai-Lee!" he said, pointing at it, "Wai-Lee wash!"

"I know what she fucking does..." Al sighed as Wu then began chattering in his native tongue. "Wu, I can't understand a fucking word you're saying but if you're asking me to release her then the answer is fucking no!"

Wu stared at him, "Swidgen. Wai-Lee. Let go." He pointed from Al to the door.

"No. Do you even understand what's happening here?" Al stepped towards him. "Catherine is sick with cholera, do you even know what that is? Now she got it by drinking water that that Chink gave her and, in my book, that makes her guilty. She don't leave here until I decide."

Wu drew himself up to his full height. "Swidgen, no."

"Swidgen, yes," Al said, wearying of the conversation. "Now unless you got something useful to tell me about anything, this conversation is at an end." He opened the door and stepped back out into the corridor, closely followed by Wu who began shrieking at him unintelligibly. "Get the fuck out, Wu!" Al rounded on him, "Before I do something we both end up fucking regretting!"

Wu looked at him contemptuously, muttered something under his breath and then walked away towards the back entrance, shaking his head.

Al sighed heavily, the hours of drinking starting to give him a headache, and then walked back into the bar in time to see Tolliver let himself in through the front door.

"Rumours spreading in camp," Tolliver said, avoiding the usual niceties. "I reckon by now everyone knows the nature of Mrs Swearengen's affliction and where she got it from, but there's also talk that you've got the Chink washerwoman locked up in your whores' room."

"You asking me or telling me?"

"I'm asking if it's true and, if it is, what your intentions are."

"My intentions are my intentions and need not be explained to others not directly involved in the situation," Al replied.

"But she is here," Tolliver persisted.

"If the knowledge allows you to sleep more restfully, Cy, then yes she is here. As for what I intend to do with her, my answer remains the same."

"Folks are going to be asking."

"I don't give a shit about what the fucking hoopleheads in this camp care to know about my goings on! What I decide to do with her is up to me and largely dependent on the outcome of what is currently going on upstairs!"

"Others might argue it ain't up to you," Tolliver said, pointing at Al with his cigar. "You ain't judge and jury..."

"In this situation I am," Al replied. "In case anyone around here has forgotten it is my wife struck down."

"Yours and others in camp," Tolliver said, "You ain't the only ones affected by this now. And if blame is to be attributed and justice meted out it, is for the camp elders to decide as a group how best to proceed, not you acting alone."

"You want to call a meeting of the fucking elders?" Al stepped forwards. "You want to bring them here and ask them to decide what to do with the Chink? You think any of them, bar you, will vote against me on how I see fit to deal with her?"

"As Sheriff, and resident paradigm of virtue, Bullock might! I would expect his preference to be for a trial."

"Fuck Bullock!" Al snarled. "And fuck you, Cy! I ain't standing here to listen to anymore of your bullshit, speaking as someone who ain't been affected in any way whatsoever by this, least of all to the extent that I have!"

Tolliver narrowed his eyes, "I withdraw the offer of the use of my vacant premises," he said. "You'd best get your whores out of there before I decide how to deal with trespassers on my property." With a final, contemptuous look, he made his way to the door and stepped out into the night.

"Now Tolliver knows the Chink's here it won't be long before everyone else in camp does," Al said to those remaining once he had gone, "Best thing to do all round is slit her throat and be done with it."

"Don't!" Silas leapt to his feet. "That ain't the answer!"

"You, being so practiced in what to do in these fucking situations," Al mocked, "would offer your opinion on how best to proceed?"

"I ain't offering no opinion," Silas replied, "I'm simply stating that killing Wai-Lee ain't going to make you feel any better about what's happened to Catherine."

"Now you claim to know my feelings on the matter. I must say, Adams, that you have been most forthright in your assertion of right and wrong in this matter when you clearly have absolutely no fucking clue how it feels to be in my position!"

"I do know! And if you bothered to even enquire into my past, or what I've lived through, you would know that I understand exactly how you're feeling right now!"

Furious, Al stepped towards him, "You would dare..."

"Because of Rebecca!" Silas exclaimed, "Because of her, I know exactly how you're feeling! I sat and watched the woman I loved die once, just like you. Under different circumstances, I grant you, but it's the same feeling. She died in childbirth four years ago, taking my son with her." A hush descended over the room as all present took in his words. "I sat by her bedside for two days watching her grow weaker and weaker until she passed on, and I hated myself for it. Blamed myself for ever putting her in that position. Took me years to accept it weren't my fault. Weren't anybody's fault." He stepped over to Al. "What's happened to Catherine ain't this Chink's fault and taking her life ain't going to change anything."

Al stared at him, taking in the words he had just spoken and processing them. Adams experiences explained a lot about his character and, in particular, how and why he had challenged him over his plans for the Chink. He even admired him for his stance and told him so. "I admire your position, Adams. I admire the way you've overcome the tragedies you've faced in the loss of your family."

"Thank you."

"But please don't presume for one minute that losing your wife gives you any authority to comment on how I am feeling at the expected loss of mine!" He turned back to look at Dan and Johnny. "That Chink stays where she is for now. And unless you want to join her," he directed his words to Silas, "you will shut the fuck up and do whatever the fuck I tell you to do or you can get the fuck out of my joint! Am I making myself fucking clear?"

Silas rubbed his chin, "Crystal."

"Good." He turned for the stairs. "Now I was in the middle of a fucking conversation before Wu arrived and I'm returning to it now. I don't want to be fucking disturbed again."

Johnny leaned into Dan as Al ascended towards his office, "Now probably ain't the time to tell him E.B. sold his hotel to Hearst."

XXXX

Al could tell the moment he entered the bedroom that Catherine had messed herself again. The familiar smell that should have repulsed him, but only made him feel more disheartened, permeated the air. Trixie hadn't returned, but the clean linens she had left still sat neatly on the floor. Shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the chair, he moved over to the bed and pulled back the covers. Catherine barely flinched as he began undoing the buttons on her nightdress, then gently eased it from her shoulders to pull it down under her body and over her legs. Without looking, he tossed it one side before carefully rolling her onto her side.

It was then that he noticed the blood, a small, crimson pool mixed with the effluence that almost mocked him as he stared at it.

"Jesus Christ..." he whispered before striding to the door, throwing it open and stepping out onto the balcony. Dan was below, uselessly wiping down the bar. "Get Doc!"

Dan looked up, "What's happened?"

"Just fucking get him!" He strode back into the bedroom and stopped at the side of the bed, his gaze moving from the blood, to the smoothness of her back and then returning to the stained bed sheets. The cause was most likely undeniable, for any woman carrying a child who begins to bleed can only assume one outcome and, in her incapacitated state, Al could only assume it on her behalf. "Still you do this," he said, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Despite my pleas you mock me now with this, take from me what you yourself have enjoyed? Be under no illusion, Travis, that when we meet in the hereinafter, it will be as enemies rather than friends."

XXXX

If Doc was surprised to find Catherine lying naked, he made no comment. Putting his bag down, he lifted out his stethoscope and then rolled her gently back onto her back and pressed it to her stomach.

"Is it the child?" Al asked from his position by the door.

Doc shook his head. "I can still hear a heartbeat."

Al felt pointless relief flood him, "Then what is it?"

"My guess would be that it's the lining of her bowel." Doc nodded as Al stared at him. "The fact she ain't eating means that's there's nothing in the way of waste product to be expelled. So, when her body contracts, that's what's coming away."

"Can't you stop it?"

"No."

"So now we have to watch her fucking bleed to death?"

"The blood loss is minimal," Doc said. "That ain't...that ain't going to be what kills her."

Al said nothing for a long moment, absorbing his friend's words. "So why does the child linger?" he asked softly.

"I don't know. If you seek my honest opinion, I'm surprised that she is still carrying. No sustenance means no nutrition for the foetus."

"So, the child is going to die?"

"Al...if Catherine dies, the child dies. If she lives..." he shook his head, "the child may be too weak to survive."

Al considered his next words carefully before he spoke them, "Does her still carrying the child impede her potential recovery in any way?"

"What are you asking me?"

"I'm asking that if the child were gone, would Cathy have a better chance of surviving?"

Doc shook his head, "A termination would have little effect on her condition now."

Al nodded, "I thank you for your candour."

"You may not thank me when I tell you that the number of cases in the camp continues to rise and that it is now common knowledge that Catherine was the first white to be affected."

"Tolliver said as much when he was here earlier," Al said. "Though the author of that information resides but next door and is yet to face me since the publication of today's newspaper. I find myself inclined to take the passage that connects our two establishments and confront him on that score."

"To what end?"

"I know not. Self-gratification, perhaps?"

Doc shifted uncomfortably, "Will you allow me to examine the Chinese woman you have downstairs."

Al looked at him, "You think I mistreat her?"

"I don't know, being the reason I'm asking, though I am more concerned that if, as you claim, she is the source of the outbreak she may herself be infected and putting those that remain in the Gem at risk."

Al sighed, "Do as you see fit." He moved back around to the side of the bed and looked down at Catherine. "I was about to tell her when I noticed that she bled."

"Tell her what?"

"That which you would have had me tell her. The truth about the night she was attacked." He looked over at Doc. "Call it my confession."

Doc stepped over beside him, "You think it will make a difference now?"

"No, but at least she can pass and I will know I kept nothing from her. Leave me now, Doc," he sat back down in the vacant chair. "Let me make this confession unseen by watchful eyes."

"As you wish," Doc replied, lifting his bag and stepping out of the bedroom. As he reached the door, Trixie appeared, her step faltering when she saw him. "It's all right," he reassured her. "She still holds on."

Nodding, Trixie moved past him into the bedroom. "She messed herself again?" Al looked up at her arrival and nodded. "Let me clean her up," she said, stepping over beside him.

Al paused and then nodded again. What he had to say could be delayed a little longer.

XXXX

Wai-Lee started when the door opened again and another man appeared. He was older than the one before, his hair and moustache greying slightly. He wore a hat and carried a doctor's bag and she found that she recognised him from the camp.

"I ain't going to hurt you," he said, closing the door behind him. "Just want to check and make sure that you're all right." He laid his hat on a nearby chair and stepped towards her. "How do you feel?"

The question posed a thousand answers. How did she feel? Frightened. Confused. Anxious. What answer should she give him first? She pulled herself slowly to her feet and looked at him. "I do not know."

"Do you feel physically well?"

Wai-Lee looked around, "I am in a room I do not know. I am here because the lady is sick...?" she shrugged, "I do not know how I feel."

"May I examine you?"

Wai-Lee regarded him warily. Her people did not avail themselves of Western medicine. Though she knew the man ministered to the camp, no Chinese that she knew had ever sought his help or assistance. They preferred to use the old ways, the remedies passed down from generation to generation, the plants and herbs that had served her people so well. She paused, thinking about Ping-Lee and now her grandmother. How she longed to know what had happened to them.

"I just want to make sure you ain't sick like the lady you speak of," Doc reassured her.

"I am not sick," Wai-Lee replied. "The other man, he say that the lady get sick from the water I give her but...I only try to help her when she ill."

"I know and I know that more of your people are sick. I know that some have died." Wai-Lee ducked her head. "And there are other people in the camp who are sick now too, like the lady."

"I do not know what has caused it," she shook her head, "We all drink the water. I drink the water and I am not sick!"

"Not everybody who is exposed will contract the disease," Doc explained. "It depends on a number of things. You can carry the disease and pass it to others without ever becoming infected yourself." He lifted his stethoscope from his bag. "May I examine you?"

Wai-Lee paused, "If I am not sick, will the man let me go?"

Doc paused, "That ain't for me to say. But if you ain't sick, there's no reason why I couldn't try and get a message to your family to tell them that."

She looked up sharply, "You would speak to Jing-Ho?"

"Is that your husband?" Wai-Lee nodded. "I can let him know that you're well if that be the case."

"And my grandmother, Ciao-Xing, you can find out if she is well?"

"I ain't making no promises, but I can try."

Wai-Lee nodded, "Then yes, you may examine me."

XXXX

The office door closed softly behind Trixie and Al welcomed the solitude. As the hours had ticked by, the thoroughfare outside had grown quiet and all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, subconsciously keeping in time with hers. "Memory reminds me of the day you knifed that cocksucker in the back downstairs," he began. "There was I, in my office, believing that I had left you to the inane conversation proffered by Harry Manning when Dan should burst in and deliver the news of what you had done. I found myself at odds with how I should feel presented with the situation. That you had attempted to murder a paying customer should have caused me anger and yet, I found myself more concerned that the incident had left you unharmed. Finding you in the whores' room, shaken with the bloodstained knife at your feet but otherwise uninjured, gave me more relief than I would ever have considered proper. And when, the following morning, Sheriff Bullock arrived with news of the cocksucker's death and you insisted you would hang for it and give your half of this place to me, I realised that I could not imagine the prospect of you not walking these rooms, even if our only contact was for you to rebuke me over my actions in dealing with the whores."

"I am not a man prone to regret but I realised then," he continued, "that my previous actions, done with intention to hurt you, were actions I would always regret. No more so than on the evening not long after when, on that very balcony," he pointed to the wall, "you confessed your feelings to me as I confessed mine to you knowing, as I did, that I was being less than full and frank with you."

"The sorry tale is this," he leaned forward in his chair. "Upon your refusal to sell to me and to accept my first offer of marriage, I chose a path that I was convinced at that time, would lead to you changing your mind on at least one of those fronts. So, I commissioned Dan to find someone in the camp who could be trusted to carry out an act and be bound in silence forever after. I am ashamed to admit that, out of unswerving loyalty, he carried out my wishes and, on the night of your evening walk, that person attacked you in the alleyway outside the Bella Union on my order."

He paused, as though waiting for her to suddenly awaken and confront him. "You must understand, that I did not wish for you to be harmed to the extent that you were and that upon seeing you in the arms of Mr Utter I knew that a grave mistake had been made on my part. As time has passed, I have come to be repulsed at the notion that I could have ever wished you harm." He reached out and touched her hair gently, "For no-one could be more dear to me now than you."

Sitting back in the chair, he sighed heavily. "And whether, upon hearing this confession, your opinion of me in the hereinafter is altered and you would not welcome me, I do believe your journey there will only hasten mine."


	11. Chapter 11

June 27th 1876

Al knew the newspaper man hadn't heard him softly open the door that led to the passageway between their two establishments and let himself into the newspaper office. Merrick was busy, bent over his press, no doubt finalising the typeface for the next edition of the Pioneer. For a moment, Al watched, wondering what headline would scream out at him the following morning and whether it would relate back to Catherine. He had kept that offending copy of the newspaper, for what reason he knew not.

He slammed the door suddenly, causing Merrick to jump and turn, a sudden look of trepidation, even fear, crossing his features. "Al..." he greeted him cautiously, "What brings you here at this late hour?"

Al glanced at the clock on the wall and saw to his surprise that it was almost midnight. Time seemed to drift pass him of late so quickly that he scarce knew whether it was morn or twilight. Slowly, he made his way down the stairs, descending towards Merrick, his eyes never leaving the other man's face, perversely enjoying the discomfort his presence created.

"H...how is Mrs Swearengen?" Merrick asked, taking a step back and rubbing his inky hands with a dirty rag. "Does she improve at all?"

"No," Al replied, stepping off the last step and facing the other man. "She does not."

"I'm sorry," Merrick looked at the ground, "I had hoped for..."

"Something new to print in your newspaper? You wished to be first to report on her miraculous recovery as you were first to report on her affliction?"

"You seek solace in liquor, I see," Merrick said, gesturing at the bottle Al had forgotten he was even holding. "Understandable, under the circumstances..."

Al held up the whisky bottle and studied it, as though seeing it for the first time. He had lost count of how many bottles he had drained in the last few, terrible, days as Catherine had grown steadily weaker. It seemed, however, as though the liquor had no effect any more. It couldn't blot out for him the realisation of what was shortly to come. She continued to bleed and her breathing had taken on a raspy quality that seemed to fill the room up so much that he imagined he could hear it even when he wasn't beside her. Her skin, dry and stretched over her face, like a death mask.

"I...apologise if my reporting on her condition upset you," Merrick said carefully, "but I am the editor of the camp newspaper and such news..."

"Needed to be reported," Al finished for him.

"Well...yes..."

"You face quite a dilemma in your profession, Merrick," Al set the bottle down gently on the nearest counter and fingered the edge of the press. "Caught between your duty to the camp and your duty to your...friends."

"I suppose..."

"She always championed you, you know. The right to print whatever the hell you wanted whether or not it might reflect badly on us as a camp. Whether or not it might reflect badly on me." He looked up and met Merrick's gaze. "And you sold her down the fucking river."

"Now h...hold on..."

"I should gut you right here."

"Al..." Merrick stepped back and put his hands up in front of him. "I report news in the camp. An outbreak of cholera is news whether you like it or not. Citizens need to know about these things so as to protect themselves and I would...I would wager that were your wife not afflicted you would have encouraged me to print such news, as I did when plague struck us."

Al stared at him, the fat, florid face of a man he thought he could trust, a man he might have considered a friend. But in business, there were no friends. Only those one had to tolerate to survive. Killing him would make little difference to the current situation and, were she to live, he knew it would be an act for which Catherine would never forgive him.

"Perhaps you're right, fucking Merrick," he said, suddenly stepping back and lifting his bottle. "I keep you from your chosen calling for too long now."

Surprise crossed Merrick's face at his departure. "You do?"

"Print whatever the fuck you like," Al continued, climbing the stairs back towards the passageway. "But do not call me friend or confidante or acquaintance," he turned back to look at the newspaper man. "For you and I are none to each other."

XXXX

Despite his assurances to Wai-Lee, it had taken Doc the best part of two days to summon up the courage to venture into Chinks Alley to try and locate her family. It wasn't that he was afraid of them, but he was afraid of their reaction to him bringing news from the Gem. Moreover, he was afraid of Al's reaction lest he find out.

Not that Al was really inclined to do much these last few days except sit by Catherine's bedside and drink himself into a stupor. He barely left the room and though Doc knew Trixie had tried to rouse him, he regularly refused to heed her. For as much as he worried about Catherine and her likely fate, he worried too about Al and his reaction to it when it came.

As he made his way through Chinks Alley, many of the workers still plying a trade turned to stare at him. They all knew who he was, though they made no use of his services. On that score, he realised it would be of some surprise to them to see him enter their midst at all. Though he knew nothing of Jing-Ho, Wai-Lee had told him to try the washhouse first, on the assumption that he might be working in her stead. As he approached the building in question, he saw a male Chink standing outside the door, a slim cigarette in his mouth, looking skywards.

"Excuse me," Doc said, stepping up to him. He lowered his gaze sharply and Doc found himself momentarily unsettled. "I'm looking for Jing-Ho."

"I'm Jing-Ho," the man replied softly.

"I'm...Doc Cochrane. I'm..."

"I know who you are," Jing-Ho replied. "You work for man at Gem."

Doc put his bag down slowly. "I bring news of your wife."

Jing-Ho's eyes widened, "She is still alive?"

"Very much so, and she ain't sick if that's your worry." He watched the other man visibly relax. "But the man at the...the Gem..."

"He keep her there," Jing-Ho interrupted. "He think she make the woman sick?"

"Mrs Swearengen...the woman...she has cholera. The sickness that's been affecting the camp, including your people. It's in the water."

Jing-Ho glanced at the large barrel of water sat a few feet away. "I have never heard of it."

"I can assure you that's what it is."

"But why is Wai-Lee to blame?" he stepped forward. "Why does he keep her?"

"Mrs Swearengen was with your wife when she needed some water. Your wife gave it to her and it was shortly after that that she became sick."

"But how could Wai-Lee have known?"

Doc shook his head, "She couldn't."

Jing-Ho paused and look at him for a long moment. "I know that Mr Wu talked with the man. He will not let Wai-Lee go."

"It appears not," Doc replied. "But I'll be keeping an eye on her and I can come back and tell you that she's all right."

"I would like that."

"She asked me to try and find out about her grandmother. I'm sorry, but I forget her name..."

"Ciao-Xing," Jing-Ho replied sadly. "She die."

"I'm very sorry," Doc said. "Is there something you would like me to pass on to your wife?"

"Tell her..." he paused. "Tell her that it will be all right. Please."

Doc nodded and lifted his bag. "Then I shall bid you goodnight, sir."

"Thank you," Jing-Ho said. "Thank you for telling me."

As he made his way back towards the Gem and, subsequently, home he couldn't help but think about the power that one person could have over another. Al, struggling with impending grief over his wife, using his power and influence to separate another man from his. Life could be incomprehensible sometimes.

"Doctor Cochrane!" He turned at the sound of his name and was surprised to see Mrs Ellsworth hurrying towards him across the thoroughfare. "I'm glad I saw you," she greeted him. "I've been trying to speak with you for some time now but something or other has always managed to prevent it."

"It's late for you to be traipsing around the camp, ain't it?"

"Thank you for your concern, Doctor, but I regularly take the air before bed. I was wondering...hoping...you could tell me about Mrs Swearengen? Are there any signs of her improving?"

Doc shifted uncomfortably, "None, I'm afraid."

"How terrible. And Mr Swearengen? He must be very...very troubled by her condition."

"I believe that to be putting it mildly, Mrs Ellsworth."

"I see. I saw him in the graveyard several days ago and he seemed very..." She glanced up at the muted light from the Gem. "Would you please pass on my profound good wishes to them both? Mine and Mr Ellsworth's, of course."

"Of course."

"Thank you Doctor." Without saying more, she turned and began making her way back across the thoroughfare in the direction of her home, leaving Doc somewhat bemused by so many of the evening's events.

June 28th 1876

"What think you to this? E.B. has sold his hotel to none other than George Hearst! He, who intends to come to camp and ride roughshod over us all, has been given a perfect fucking opportunity to so do by our very own mayor selling to him! I confess I sometimes don't give E.B. credit for his complete and inane stupidity. I wonder sometimes if he doesn't take it from that idiot that he employs." Al sighed and leaned back in the chair. "They think I don't know about it. Dan and the other boys. They lower their voices when near me lest I find out and perhaps do something a more prudent man would not do. But then, when have you ever known me to be less than prudent?" He stared at Catherine's unresponsive form. "You know, right now I would give my eye teeth for you to rebuke me for something, anything, rather than you lie there like a fucking corpse. Didn't you hear my confession to you but three days ago? Do not you wish to rise up and strike me a blow? I would not even attempt to defend myself," he continued, spreading his arms, "and you may strike as true and as deadly as you wish."

A soft knock distracted him and, looking up, he saw Doc appear from around the corner at the doorway.

"Doc."

"Jesus Christ, you look like shit," Doc greeted him. "Have you slept at all?"

"Here and there." Al watched as he moved over to the bed, placed his bag on the ground and pulled open one of Catherine's eyes. "You don't look so well rested yourself." He paused. "I visited Merrick last night."

"And?"

"I left him in one piece, but in no doubt of the new path our relationship will hereinafter follow." He got to his feet, wincing at the pain in his back, and moved over to splash his face from the wash basin. "I think I may have unnerved him."

"I met Mrs Ellsworth last night," Doc said, steering the conversation in a new direction. "She wished to send her best to both you and Catherine."

"I had no idea your paths crossed so easily. I had always assumed she found you...irksome."

"She came upon me as I was leaving Chinks Alley."

Al turned at his words, "And what business took you to Chinks Alley so late?"

"Wai-Lee asked me to find her husband and reassure him that she was well," Doc replied casually, placing his stethoscope on Catherine's chest.

"Don't use that Chink whore's name in my presence. And don't you be scurrying around Chinks Alley giving them information as to the goings on here, I won't allow it."

"I don't take my orders from you, Al, and in any events was simply following upon a request from a patient."

"She ain't your patient, Doc, that's your fucking patient!" Al said, pointing to the bed.

"I'm well aware of that..."

"Then do your fucking job."

"And just what the hell do you think I'm doing?" Doc asked, rounding on his friend. "What the hell else would you like me to do, Al? Catherine is dying. She is dying and there ain't nothing that you nor I can do about it and keeping that Chink locked up downstairs ain't going to make a blind bit of difference to the outcome up here!" He turned back and began listening to her stomach.

"Perhaps not," Al conceded, "but it makes me feel a whole lot fucking better." Moving over to his desk, he opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a fresh bottle of whisky. For a moment, he stared at it, mindful of Merrick's comment the previous evening and the fact that it could have been water for all the effect it had. Besides, if he wasn't careful, he would have drunk the stores dry with little reason to warrant purchasing more other than his own indulgencies. "I assume you told him that she remains where she is for the time being? You may look in on her from time to time if you wish but beyond that, she remains in my custody."

"Al..."

"And I don't care for a lecture on my drinking habits either," he replied sourly, "given that I believe that to be your next topic of conversation."

"It ain't that. The child's heartbeat has...stopped." Al froze at the words and then turned to face him. "That means..."

"I know what it means," he said softly.

"I'm sorry."

Al nodded as he uncorked the bottle. "You and me both, Doc, you and me both."

XXXX

"Poor Catherine," Trixie said as Doc broke the news to her moments later. "If she lives, this ain't the kind of news she's going to want to hear upon her recovery."

"She ain't going to live, Trixie," Doc said. "Probably only looking at a few more days now."

Trixie paled. "I thought...I mean I hoped..."

"I know."

"I never liked her at the start. When I first met her, that is. Figured she thought she was better than all the rest of us cause her Daddy owned half the place and she didn't have to whore." She wiped her eyes. "Time taught me I was wrong. She was the only one who could stand up to Al without fear of feeling the back of his hand. And she did it too, stood up for the girls. Even when she didn't have to."

"I'm...I'm worried about Al," Doc confided. "I know liquor has always been his friend but the rate he's drinking gives me cause for concern. As does..." he nodded in the direction of the room where he knew Wai-Lee remained.

"You still think he's going to kill her?"

"I believe so."

"Al ain't...he ain't really like that," Trixie said. "I mean, I know he's killed before cause I've seen him do it but...but it's always been for some sort of twisted...noble reason. But this...she hasn't done anything wrong!"

"In Al's mind, she has."

"How did he...I mean...how did he take...?"

Doc sighed and looked heavenwards, "I honestly don't know."

XXXX

"A pillow, a knife, a blow to the head? How should I do it? What would be the kindest way to put her out of her fucking misery, do you think?" Al glanced across the room from his desk to the bed. "What would be the quickest and most painless? Do you have an opinion? No, of course you don't, you're a fucking whore and I don't ask for my whores to have opinions, only open mouths and open pussies." He began unbuttoning his pants. "Get over here and suck my prick."

Dolly, stood against the closed office door, paused and stared wordlessly at him.

"Well don't stand there looking like you don't know what to do with it," he insisted. "I don't keep you in my employ just to stand around looking fucking melancholic now, do I?"

"I...there's..."

"I'm sorry, does the suggestion offend you? Have you something better to be doing then satisfying me, for if so I would be enthralled to hear all about it!"

"It's just..." Dolly glanced over at the bed,

"Well it ain't as if she's going to be putting up a protest any time soon, is it?" Al said. "Lying there like sleeping fucking beauty while the rest of us run around after her like she's fucking royalty." He got to his feet and stepped forward, grabbing Dolly by the arm and pulling her to the foot of the bed. "Look at her. Do you see how she doesn't even move now? Not one inflection crosses her face, not one muscle moves, least of all one that could satisfy me now. Therefore it is incumbent on you to fulfil your role as you once did in days gone by." He grabbed her hand and pulled her forward so that she was forced to take hold of his shaft. "That's it..." he encouraged as she began stroking him. "Keep doing that for a moment while she lies there. I tried to tell her. I tried to keep her from venturing into Chinks Alley but would she listen to me? Of course she wouldn't. Too fucking stubborn and full of her own importance. Too clever to listen to anything I might have to say. And then what happens? She feels unwell, she drinks the water and now...now she's dying."

He moved backwards and sank into the chair by the bed, pulling Dolly with him and forcing her onto her knees. "Suck my prick now." He gripped the back of her hair and pushed her face to his groin, where she could do little other than as she was bidden. An instant wave of calm flowed through him at the familiarity of the action. "There, Cathy, do you see? Do you see what you've made me do now?" He addressed the figure in the bed. "You lie there and I sit here and poor Dolly kneels there pleasuring me in ways that you should be responsible for. Ways that you would be responsible for were you not the sanctimonious, self-righteous, all-knowing little bitch who has reduced me to doing this! It's you who has done this. You who has forced Dolly to do this. You who has taken yourself and your...my...our..." He broke off suddenly.

For a moment, the only noise in the room was a mixture of the sound of Catherine's laboured breathing and Dolly's wet mouth on his prick.

"Get off me," he said, causing Dolly to lift her head in confusion. "I said, get the fuck off me!" He pushed her violently away so that she fell back onto her bottom. "Get the fuck out of here," he commanded her, hurriedly rebuttoning his pants. "Didn't you fucking hear me?" he said as she continued to stare at him. With little further need of encouragement, she got to her feet and ran out of the room. He put his head in his hands and pressed his fingers into his eye sockets until red dots danced across the darkness.

"Our child," he said finally. "Our child."


	12. Chapter 12

June 30th 1876

"There's a problem."

Al looked up from where he was sat at his desk and regarded Dan warily over his glasses. "Other than that which has already presented itself to us?"

Dan glanced over his shoulder into the bedroom, as if Catherine might be eavesdropping. "I..."

"If it's about E.B. selling his hotel to Hearst, then spare me your woes for I already know of the situation."

"It ain't. But how...?"

"Never you mind," Al replied. "More important things to think about at the present time than that." He had wakened from slumber the previous evening, his mind straying instantly to the signed and witnessed paper he had had Bullock keep safe only a few months ago. His declaration at the time when the situation with Magistrate Claggett had seemed so tense, that upon his death, his share of the Gem would fall to Catherine and that, even upon marriage, she would retain her own. He found it somewhat amusing now, that it had never crossed his mind to consider the situation should she herself predecease him. He supposed that as her husband, her next of kin...

"It's about Wu." Dan brought him back to reality.

"What about him?"

"He won't give us the dope."

"He won't what?"

"He won't give us the dope," Dan repeated. "Now I won't pretend to be able to work out exactly what he said, but the gist of it was...we ain't getting the dope."

"That clever fucking bastard," Al threw his glasses onto the desk and got to his feet. "I won't give him back his washerwoman whore so he won't give me my fucking dope. I knew he was fucking up to something after the last time he was here. I half expected daily fucking visits from him trying to persuade me to change my mind..." He ran a hand over his face. "Tell him I want to see him."

"All right, but I don't think he'll come," Dan offered, putting his hat on his head.

"And what makes you think that?"

"Call it a hunch."

"Well take your fucking hunch over to Chinks Alley and get him back here, now!"

"Yes sir."

When Dan was gone, Al wandered over to the end of the bed and stared at his wife. "You think me insensitive to be concerned about my dope supply while you lie there about to breathe your last? That fucking Chink bastard, cutting me off just because I won't bend to his will like one of his fucking Chink workers. Well, if he thinks he can fucking blackmail me..."

He broke off and began pacing back and forth. "That bitch is going to die, Cathy. There's no other alternative. Look at what she's fucking done to you! Taken you away from me...taken away our child..." he shook his head. "No, she has to pay. It'll be a message, you see. No-one fucks with me. No-one fucks with what's mine." He stopped and looked at her again, almost daring her to argue with him. "Though you may not agree, you ain't here to make the decision which leaves only me and my judgement, poor though it may be at times. Poor as it undoubtedly was the day I allowed myself to feel for you."

He stepped back from the bed, his hands clenched by his side. "Vengeance, my girl...vengeance is mine."

XXXX

Doc opened the door to the whores' room and walked inside, closing it quietly behind him. Wai-Lee lay on the bed in the corner and as she turned her face to look at him, he saw the hopelessness in her eyes. When he had visited her last, he had told her of his conversation with Jing-Ho and passed on his words of comfort. For a time, she had seemed rejuvenated, but as more days had passed, he could see she had lost whatever hope she had once had.

"How you feeling?" he asked, putting his bag down beside the bed.

"I was sick," she replied.

"When?"

"Yesterday and again today." Wai-Lee sat up slowly. "I worry I have the same as the lady. The sickness that you spoke of."

Doc shook his head, "You would be sicker than this if you did. You been eating?"

"Yes. The man with the beard, he bring me food. He is nice to me."

Doc silently thanked Silas. "Can I have a look at you? Wai-Lee nodded and he gestured for her to open the top of her dress. Lifting his stethoscope and pressed it down gently on her chest and then moved it around. "Everything sounds fine." Wai-Lee suddenly pulled away from him and dragged her smock down over her thin frame. "There's no need for embarrassment," he reassured him. "I'm a doctor."

"Yes, thank you," she replied, averting her eyes. "I am fine."

"But you said you were sick..."

"It's all right," she said quickly. "Please, I am fine."

Doc sat back and regarded her. "What ain't you telling me?"

"Nothing," she said, "please go. I am fine."

Reluctantly, Doc got to his feet, packed away his equipment and headed for the door. "If you change your mind," he said, turning as he left, "have the man with the beard fetch me."

Wai-Lee nodded, though she had no intention of asking for him again. Inwardly she chastised herself for not realising the cause of her symptoms. Jing-Ho...he would be so happy. If only everything could be all right again. If only she could go back to her people.

XXXX

Travis' grave looked no different than it had done when he had previously visited it. He had deliberately delayed his visit until the late afternoon, when the sun had already peaked at its height and was becoming lower in the sky. The midday heat had dissipated somewhat, and a cooler breeze blew against him from the hills beyond.

"You win," Al said, as he stood before the headstone. "I've pled with you for days now and yet...you win. I have no inclination to watch her suffer any more. Take her. Take her and be happy with her. Keep her safe in whatever fucking paradise you've found for yourself and Evelyn. Perhaps...perhaps our chid may also be there. You may find it in your heart to look after him too. I am under no illusion I shall not follow any of you."

He felt for the cold familiarity of his blade. "Like I told her, vengeance will be mine. But even as you judge me as I slit the Chink's throat, remember that I do what you couldn't. And I do it, not for you, but for her."

He turned to go and then glanced finally back over his shoulder. "Farewell friend."

XXXX

It was spring and she was back in Chicago. A child again, running through the streets in her thin cotton dress, her hair billowing out behind her in the breeze, laughing at everything and at nothing at all. She felt free, innocent, without responsibility. All around her were adults, moving about their business looking sad, melancholic, depressed even. But there was she, happy, untouched by sorrow, light as a feather.

"Catherine!" She turned at the sound of the familiar voice and saw her mother standing a few feet away, shielding her eyes from the midday sun, her smile wide and welcoming. She saw her wave to her and call her name again. "Catherine!"

"Mama!" She called back and began running towards her. Before she could reach, her father appeared at her mother's side. He slid his arm around her waist and began waving in unison with his wife.

"Catherine!" He too called out her name, in the rich voice she realised she had missed so much.

"I'm coming!" she called back, running as fast as she could towards them. "Mama, Daddy...I'm coming...!"

XXXX

Dan met him at the door as he returned to the Gem. Any surprise the younger man may have had at his absence was quickly overtaken by the news he had to deliver. "Wu ain't coming," he said matter-of-factly. "Tried everything I could short of picking him up and carrying him. Not got a clue what he was saying..."

"All right, Dan," Al replied, walking past him towards the stairs.

"Funny ain't it, how sometimes we can't get rid of him and yet, when you want him..."

"Doc still here?"

"Uhhh...yes sir, he's in with the whores."

"Send him up to me when he's done. I fancy him sitting with me awhile."

"Sure thing," Dan replied.

"And ready that Chink." As he reached the office door, he saw Silas come out and close it behind him. "I hope, Adams, you ain't bee n tossing the place."

"Saying goodbye to Catherine," Silas replied defiantly.

Al nodded, "I hope you ain't here to try and dissuade me from my chosen path."

"No," Silas shook his head. "I know I couldn't stop you even if I tried. What's more..." he broke off.

"What's more?" Silas met his gaze and he could see the agony in the other man's eyes that needed no further explanation. "Help Dan with the Chink," he said. "And tell Doc to hurry up."

XXXX

So much light...it was blinding...and yet she could still see her parents. They were waiting and waving and calling to her. Yet they seemed so far away. She kept running towards them but each step appeared to take her nowhere. It was as though she was running on the spot, destined to never reach them. 

Squinting in the brightness, she thought she could see her mother holding something in her arms. From a distance, it looked like a child. Her brother or sister, the one so cruelly ripped from them when her mother had died. She was to be reunited with them all. A proper family again.

She ran faster, screaming their names, though her words appeared carried away on an invisible wind. Only a few more moments and she would be there...

XXXX

Al closed his eyes briefly, willing himself not to strike his friend. There was only one person worthy of his blows and they were not in the room. "Stay with her," he said finally. "If this be God's will…stay with her. Don't leave her on her fucking own."

"No, you stay with her," Doc stepped in front of him again. "Stay with her, Al. The vows you took were of little consequence to you, I'm sure, but you have an obligation to stay with her until…" he swallowed hard, "until the obligation exists no more."

Al turned and looked back at the bed. There was a part of him that knew Doc was right. That his duty lay in this room and not the one downstairs. And yet vengeance, retribution, comeuppance…all words he could not stop hearing spoken in his head. Then, like the message he had been waiting for, the door opened and Silas appeared. His face was ashen white, his eyes red as though he had been crying and his voice trembled slightly when he spoke. "Ready when you are, boss."

It was all the encouragement he needed, the sign that what he was about to do was the right thing. That God, or whatever entity there be to meet him at the gates of Heaven or Hell, would understand. He paid no further heed to Doc's continued protestations, moved past Silas and hurried along the balcony, down the stairs and into the whores' room. Slamming the door closed, he turned to face his hostage. Every nerve in his body was tingling with the anticipation, the expectation, of what he was about to do. He had never killed in anyone else's name before save his own. Never killed for any other purpose than to serve himself. This would be the first time, and it would give him no pleasure, for the act once done would not change the terrible outcome awaiting him upstairs.

He could feel his heart thudding in his chest as he took a step forward and she began begging. At least, he assumed she was begging. Her incoherent ramblings in a language he didn't understand only served to increase his anger. The stupid, fucking, Chink bitch was about to get what was coming to her. A life for a life. One meaningless to him, the other, the most important next to his own. He watched as Dan and Johnny exchanged a look over her head as they held an arm each, preventing her from the obvious flight. He knew they weren't sure this was the right thing to do, unconvinced it was the answer. Of course it wasn't the answer. There was no answer, there was only this.

Reaching into the waistband of his pants, he pulled out his knife and advanced towards her. Her pleas grew louder, more high pitched, almost screams as her eyes darted between him and the blade he now wielded.

"Boss…" Dan said nervously.

"Shut up, Dan."

"But…"

Tears were streaming from her eyes, her body shaking, sweat causing her thin dress to stick to her body...all things that he had had to watch someone else far more important to him go through over the last few days. Seeing she who had caused it seemingly suffer the same only served to make him even angrier. Al's fist swung out and cracked her across the jaw, causing her to scream and lurch to one side. Then, he reached out and grabbed her chin, pressing the tip of the blade against her windpipe, forcing her to look at him, to see the anger and pain he knew would be reflected in his eyes. Could she ever possibly understand from the emotions she would see there what she had done?

Al Swearengen didn't give a shit. He just wanted his eyes to be the last thing she would ever see.

"Please..." she reverted to English. "Please, please..."

"Shut up," he replied, forcibly but quietly.

"Please..." she begged again.

"I said, shut up."

"My baby..."

Al froze on her words.

"My baby..." she said again. "Please..."

He stepped back from her, his eyes travelling to her stomach beneath the smock dress that could have hidden a multitude of sins for all he knew. But he saw no sign of swelling, no sign of the gentle curve of impending motherhood...much like he hadn't seen it in his own wife, would never have guessed if neither woman had voiced it."You're with child?" he asked softly.

Wai-Lee stared at him as though uncomprehendingly.

"Baby," he said, pointing to her stomach with the knife. "You're having a fucking baby?"

She nodded, her terrified eyes still boring into his own.

He felt his breath coming in bursts, the knife heavy in his hand. He remembered the feeling, the first feeling when Catherine had told him she was expecting. It had been a feeling he had never experienced before, one he had never expected to experience. A quiet joy and elation that he could have a son. Then he remembered the feeling in the pit of his stomach when Doc had declared that Catherine had lost their child. At the time, he hadn't been sure what it had represented. But now he knew. It was a loss of hope.

"She killed Catherine," the voice in his head protested. "It's her fault your child is gone. She deserves this!"

"Boss?" Al tore his gaze from the Chink and looked at Dan, who was watching him with a puzzled frown. "Are you...?"

He looked back at Wai-Lee and suddenly realised that he knew what Doc had meant. Catherine wouldn't have wanted this, more so even now that there was a child involved. Would it assuage the pain at the loss of his own child to take away that of another?

He tucked the knife back into his waistband. "Let her go."

Dan stared at him, "What?"

"I said, let her go." He felt for the door handle and turned it. "Get her out of my sight."

XXXX

"Bless your daughter, Catherine, as she prepares to embark on this final journey, Lord. Cast out her sins, be they many or be they few. Be with her and guide her safely to your house and give comfort to those she leaves behind in these dark hours. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, Amen."

"Amen," Al echoed softly.

Andy Cramed tucked his Bible under his arm and turned to face him. "I'm so very sorry, Mr Swearengen. If I can be of any further assistance to you..."

"You may well prove of use later," Al replied, getting to his feet. He knew he didn't have to elaborate, for the other man would take his meaning all too well.

"Indeed," Andy took a final look back at Catherine. "I'll leave you both now."

Al closed the door behind him and leaned against it, watching the motionless figure in the bed before him. "On your way now, Cathy," he told her softly. "You have my fucking permission for what it's worth. If you lingered only in an attempt to persuade me not to carry out that which I had vowed to do, your task is complete. The Chink whore returns to her people as we speak, safe in the knowledge that she will bear a healthy child. "

He sat on the edge of the bed, reached over and brushed an imaginary hair away from her pale face. "Perhaps Harry Manning would have been a better choice after all. Though I confess, I would not have missed our unions." For a moment, he thought he saw...felt...her stir in the bed before him. But there was nothing. Would never be anything again.

"On your way."

XXXX

She was no longer a child, but a woman. She didn't need to see herself to be sure of it. She felt different, no longer light and carefree. She stopped running. Her parents, still in front of her, stopped waving and shouting, but their smiles remained. She stared at them, wondering if they would come to her, but they made no movement. 

Suddenly, something made her feel as though she had to look back. Turning, she saw another figure away in the distance, much further away from her than her parents. It took a moment to recognise who it was, but she instantly knew why she felt like a woman and not a child. 

It was Al.

He wasn't doing anything. In fact, she couldn't even be sure that he was looking at her. But she recognised the feelings inside that the mere sight of him conjured. He made no move towards her, no gesture, no sound and yet...

She turned back to her parents and realised that it wasn't her brother or sister her mother was holding. It was her own child. She knew, without being told, that it was no longer within her. Her parents continued to smile, reassuring her that everything would be all right. She didn't have to join them yet.

She waved once at them and then turned to run in the opposite direction...

XXXX

The room was in silence when Doc opened the door. Stepping inside, he immediately caught sight of Al asleep in the chair by the bed. He was glad, that in the previous few hours, he had come to the right decision and allowed Wai-Lee her freedom. Glad and yet somewhat surprised. He genuinely had believed that his friend, upon leaving the bedroom earlier, had intended not returning until blood had been shed. His reappearance moments later, with news of what had really transpired, had been a great relief.

Placing his bag down on the floor, he stepped up to the bed and glanced at Catherine. He glanced once...and then looked again. Moving forwards, he placed his hand on her forehead, then lifted his stethoscope from his bag and pressed it gently against her chest.

"Lord have mercy..." he glanced over to Al's gently snoring form. "Al. Al!" There was no response. "Al, wake up!"

Al jerked upright, his eyes automatically going to Catherine's face and then to Doc's, whose gaze he held for a long moment. "Is she gone?"

Doc shook his head. "On the fucking contrary. Her fever's broke."


	13. Chapter 13

July 2nd 1876

She felt tired, so very tired and her limbs were heavy, barely capable of movement. Everything was dark and when she tried to open her eyes, the light was blinding. She could see shapes behind her eyelids and hear voices that she was sure she recognised and yet it felt as though she was moving through a dense fog from which there seemed no escape.

A terrible thirst hung heavy over her. She was desperate for water and yet couldn't be sure that those around her knew of her plight. She could feel them touching her head, lifting it and she imagined that she felt ice cold liquid running down her throat, but she couldn't be sure.

Her dreams were peppered with images from the past, most notably her parents. She could see them again in front of her, but couldn't say anything to them, though she was desperate to ask if it was her child that her mother cradled in her arms. The vision was so distorted, but she felt a connection to the tiny bundle that made her believe it was her own. Then slowly, very slowly, the images started to fade from her vision, her parents disappeared into the darkness and she managed finally to open her eyes.

It was dusk, the firelight from the thoroughfare mingled with the sunset bathing the room in a warm glow. It was comforting to see the familiarity of the room, the chest of drawers next to the bed, the chair in the corner, the doors half open revealing the corner of Al's desk...

"Catherine?" She moved her head ever so slightly at the sound of her name and instantly recognised Doc at the other side of the bed, watching her intently. "Can you hear me?"

"Doc..." she said, though her voice sounded nothing like she expected it to. It was dry and raspy, as though she hadn't spoken for weeks.

"You recognising me is a good sign," he said, reaching over and lifting her arm to feel for her pulse. "How are you feeling?"

She tried to articulate a thousand words. She felt fatigue, thirst, hunger...and yet nothing would come out of her mouth. It was as though her brain and her tongue were no longer connected.

"Don't worry," he said, patting her hand, "You've got plenty of time. We're just glad you're back in the land of the living." He reached over and pulled up her eyelids one at a time. "We need to keep giving you water, though. The cholera left you severely dehydrated." He reached over to the table by the bed and lifted a glass.

"Chol...chol..." she fought to say the word, "Cholera?"

Doc nodded as he gently aided her in lifting her head and drinking some of the precious liquid. "Easy now..." he cautioned as she tried desperately to take more. "We all had you for dead, me included. Should have known you'd fight back." She rested back down and her eyes left his face, moving to the other side of the room as though searching for another. "You want me to fetch Al?"

Catherine looked back at the mention of his name and, for some reason, felt her chest tighten and her eyes fill with tears that scratched and tore at her dry eyeballs.

"It's all right," Doc reassured her at the sign of her distress. "There's no need to upset yourself. Al's fine. He's downstairs in the bar. Been sitting by your side so long these last few days I figured I'd offer him some respite." He got to his feet. "I'll tell him you're awake."

Before she could say anything, he had loped out of the room at a speed she was sure she had never seen him move. Slowly, she lifted her hand to her face, almost groaning out in pain at the profound difficulty of the act, and attempted to feebly wipe away the tears that had escaped onto her cheeks. Moments later, a shadow crossed the threshold of the bedroom and she focused on her husband standing at the foot of the bed. Had she been asked to describe his expression, she wouldn't have known where to begin. Relief mingled with anxiety, mingled with anger...all emotions were present.

"You see fit to awaken the moment I'm absent from the room?" he asked in a low voice, containing only the vaguest hint of rebuke. Stepping forwards, he gripped the metal bedstead. "Do we enjoy your company awhile or shall you drift off again?"

"I'm...I'm awake..."

"As I see."

She wanted to tell him what she knew, the truth that their child had been lost from her belly, but once again the words refused to come. "Tired..." was all she could say.

"Then rest," he replied. "Ain't nothing commanding your attention right now."

She wanted to stay awake, wanted to converse with him about so many things. But the darkness was calling her back and, seconds later, she was asleep again.

XXXX

Al watched as Catherine's breathing grew even again and couldn't help feeling frustrated that the moment of clarity had been so brief. In the two days since her fever had broken and Doc had proclaimed that she had turned the corner away from death, he had been waiting for her to suddenly open her eyes, sit up in bed and greet him with the smile he had to admit he had missed. Instead, there had been periodic moments of a return to reality which usually involved whoever happened to be nearest forcing water down her throat until she lapsed into unconsciousness again.

"Don't be disheartened," Doc said from behind, causing him to start. "What she's experiencing is natural for someone recovering from her condition."

"When is she going to awaken properly?"

"There's no time scale, Al. You must simply be patient."

"I ain't used to being fucking patient," he retorted, turning and heading for his desk. "Spent days sitting here waiting for her to die and now I'm sitting waiting for her to live."

"And she will."

Al sat and rubbed his fingers together, the only tell he knew he possessed indicating stress or anxiety. "She needs to be told. About the child," he added on Doc's look of confusion. "She needs to be told about the child, and soon."

"News such as that may not aid..."

"Oh spare me! It's bound to be one of the first things she queries when her faculties return! I'd rather have the sorry news revealed and deal with the consequences thereafter than prolong the agony of knowing I bear the truth alone."

Doc sat down in the opposite chair. "If it pains you that much, I have no difficulty in delivering the news myself. Perhaps, coming from me..."

"I thank you for your offer Doc, but no. The truth must come from me. I owe her that much at least, for other truths told in moments of despair shall, I have no doubt, remain hidden." Doc frowned. "I speak of my confession to her about the night in the alley by the Bella Union."

"I see."

"Reason would hold that she should have no memory of my words. Truth be told I ain't sure that's a good thing, unburdened as I found myself having made the confession."

Doc got to his feet. "Right now, it's about seeing her through the next few days. Any choices you make thereafter I leave to your own conscience." He lifted his bag. "I'll be back again in the morning. You know where to find me should there be any complications. "

When his companion had left, Al made his way back into the bedroom and pulled the chair close to the bed. Though he wanted to, it didn't feel right to him to attempt to reclaim his own side of the bed, not whilst Catherine was still so clearly unwell. He lifted the blanket that lay atop the bed and draped it over his legs, leaning back in the chair and welcoming the approach of sleep.

"Al?"

He jerked suddenly upright, unsure how much time had passed since he had sat down, and leaned forward towards the bed. Catherine's head was turned towards him, her eyes were open and she slowly stretched out her hand. Gingerly, he took it in his own, rubbing his thumb over the tender flesh of her palm. "I'm here," he told her quietly.

Her eyes filled with tears which ran, unchecked, over her cheeks and dripped onto the bedclothes beneath. Frozen, unable to articulate words to comfort her, he could only listen to the soft, heartrending sound of the truth that he was now saved from delivering himself.

"The child..." she said, her voice breaking on the word. "Our..."

As he observed the distress on her face, the wetness of her eyes and the warm pressure of her hand in his, he felt an inexplicable lump rise in his throat. He didn't know what pained him the most: the loss of their child, or her obvious agony at the knowledge. Such words as she needed to hear were alien to his vocabulary. "Cathy..."

Before he could articulate a coherent response, Catherine's eyes closed over again, her breathing grew even and regular and he could only watch her sleep, her face troubled by a frown, her tears drying on her cheeks.

July 3rd 1876

"How is she today?" Trixie asked as she came into the Gem the following afternoon.

Al looked up from where he was reading the Pioneer at the bar. "Much improved, it would appear. Managed to stomach some of Jewel's soup this morning. Be good to start getting things back to normal around here."

Trixie looked around at the few customers sitting drinking or conversing with the girls. "Doc said it was all right to open for business again?"

"As you see."

"Mind if I go up?"

"Do as you please, you usually do," Al replied. "Trixie..." he cautioned as she headed for the stairs. "No excitement if you please. I'd rather prefer Catherine remain in a state of improvement, if you understand my meaning?"

"Perfectly," she replied. "Does she know...?"

"About the child, yes," he pre-empted her question. "But the less said..."

"Of course."

Al watched her climb the stair, none too convinced that she would be able to keep the conversation to generalities. He had half a mind to follow her to ensure his orders were carried out, when Silas came hurrying over to him.

"Best you come see this, boss."

Al followed him to the door of the Gem in time to see the stagecoach pull to a halt outside the hotel and an older man climb down from within. He stretched his back out two or three times before standing back and surveying the hotel before him.

"Admiring his acquisition," Al observed, for he was in no doubt that this was George Hearst, finally arrived in camp after so many weeks of speculation. Hearst glanced over his direction but made no acknowledgement before continuing inside the hotel where EB was standing. "Get a message to Bullock," he instructed Silas. "Let him know of the developments."

XXXX

"Want me to brush your hair?" Trixie asked, lifting Catherine's hairbrush from the dresser.

"No, thank you," she replied from her position propped up in the bed by pillows. "I still find it difficult to hold my head up for any length of time." She observed the other woman. "No doubt I owe you thanks."

"I just did what anyone else would do," Trixie replied.

"I'm sure Al gave you little choice in assisting with my care."

"Ain't like I wouldn't have offered."

"I'm grateful, in any event. From what Jewel told me this morning, and from what I remember myself...it can't have been a pleasant task."

"It's just good to see you looking so much better," Trixie said, smiling. "Had us all pretty scared, and I include Al in that number. Ain't never seen him in that way, poised to commit murder in your name..."

Catherine frowned, "Murder?"

Trixie put the hairbrush down and sat down in the chair. "Probably shouldn't be telling you this, given his warning to me earlier about not exciting you..."

"Trixie..."

"It was the Chink washerwoman."

"Wai-Lee?"

Trixie nodded, "Fact is, she was the source of the cholera, or at least her water was. Doc reckons you got sick from drinking it that day. When Al found out, her had her brought here and held downstairs in the whores' quarters. Knife was at her throat ready to end her when something changed his mind."

Catherine's eyes widened, "What?"

"No idea. Thought Dan might have told me but he's keeping fucking quiet. All I know is, right after that, Al let her go back to her people." She paused. "He would have done it, Catherine. Like I said, I ain't never seen him act like that before."

Catherine reached out slowly and lifted the water glass from the table beside the bed. With trembling fingers, she lifted it to her mouth and drained it before placing it back down again. Her mind turned over what Trixie had just revealed to her and she felt the incredible pull of fatigue. "I think I need to rest," she said softly.

Trixie got to her feet, "You rest then. Ain't nothing for you to be doing right now."

XXXX

Al had just finished rebuking Jen for giving a smart mouth to a paying customer when he saw Merrick make his way into the Gem, his tone somewhat uncertain, his gaze refusing to meet his own. "Am I given to understand that George Hearst has made his appearance in camp?" he asked.

Al stared at him, reminded of their last conversation and his words that they would no longer be anything amounting to friends. "Never one to miss an announcement," he observed.

"Indeed," Merrick coughed. "I couldn't help but notice all the activity at the hotel." He paused as Al continued to stare at him. "And...Mrs Swearengen? Is she much improved?"

"You wish to print updates on her condition?"

"No...I merely enquire as a resident of the camp and as someone who has always admired her spirit and...well..."

"She is somewhat improved," Al sighed, unwilling to listen to the other man's bluster. "It may take some time but Doc appears satisfied with her so far."

"Excellent news!" Merrick declared. "Excellent news. I would..." he coughed, "perhaps at some opportune moment, be grateful for the chance of speaking with Mrs Swearengen and offering her my own personal apology if she were to be of the opinion that what was written..."

"She has no knowledge of what was written about her, nor does she need to acquire it," Al interrupted him. "Rest and lack of excitement was Doc's recommendation and that is what she shall have. I won't have you riling her up with lurid tales."

"I quite understand," Merrick bowed his head, "Perhaps then, you might, on my behalf, convey my good wishes for her recovery."

"I'll be sure to tell her you enquired after her."

Merrick turned to leave, "Oh, and if there should be any information about Mr Hearst's arrival which you feel would be pertinent for the camp...you will let me know?"

"I'll consider it."

Merrick nodded. "Thank you, Al." Then he turned and hurried from the bar.

XXXX

"I find you much improved, Catherine," Doc proclaimed that evening. "Even from when I saw you this morning. You grow stronger hour by hour." He felt her forehead. "Have you any pain?"

"Physical, no," she replied honestly, "but...in my heart..."

He drew back. "Al told you about the child?"

"He didn't have to," Catherine replied, "I already knew. Like something out of a dream, I saw my parents and they had a child with them. I knew it was mine." She looked away. "I feel...I feel..."

"It's natural in your situation to feel a sense of hopelessness, but there was nothing you could have done to prevent the loss of the child. Your body was shutting down from the disease and it could barely sustain you, let alone a child."

"But there must have been something..."

Doc shook his head, "Believe me, there was nothing anyone could have done. I was surprised the child remained inside you for so long after you fell ill."

Catherine wiped her eyes, "Al's reaction to the news...was it relief?"

Doc frowned, "Of course not. Al accepted the news in the way that Al always accepts troubling news, but his devastation was profound, I have no doubt of that. Mostly, however, his concern was for you."

"I'm given to understand that Wai-Lee...that he held her here. That he intended to...to hold her accountable for my illness."

"Yes, for reasons entirely understandable to a man in his situation."

"Then she was the source of the cholera?"

"The water was. Many of the Chinese came down with it too, though the outbreak is coming to an end now. You were the only white woman to be affected." He paused. "There's no way Wai-Lee could have known."

Catherine nodded. "Did he release her on my improvement?"

Doc paused, "Al's reasons for releasing her are best explained by himself."

"Then you don't know his reasons?"

"I..."

"Doc, if you know, please tell me."

"I'm given to understand," he said slowly, "that she revealed to him that she was in the early stages of pregnancy." She sank back into the pillows and closed her eyes. "Perhaps, it might be prudent for you and Al to speak of what transpired during your illness."

Catherine nodded. "Is he nearby?" she asked quietly.

"Downstairs when I arrived to examine you." Doc got to his feet. "Shall I advise him that you wish to converse with him?"

Catherine opened her eyes, fresh, unshed tears glistening in the corners. "Yes."


	14. Chapter 14

When Al entered the bedroom, Catherine was awake, her gaze landing on him instantly. It wasn't immediately obvious as to her mood, but her eyes were wide, huge in her face, and he thought he detected the sheen of unshed tears reflected in the light, which only served to unnerve him.

"You summoned me," he said, stopping at the foot of the bed.

"I need to know," she said softly.

"Know what?"

"What happened."

"When?"

She closed her eyes briefly in frustration, "You know when. When I was sick. I need to know what happened and...and what you did."

He found himself irritated by her tone. "Implying that my actions done during those dark days were wrong and leave me liable to rebuke?"

"I have a right to know."

"And what is it you wish to know, exactly?" he asked, wandering over to the window by the bed. "How I found you, lying in your own shit in the privy? My thoughts and feelings when Doc told me you wouldn't live? Or perhaps you'd like to know what I said to your father on my visits to his grave when I begged for your life."

"I need to know why you intended to kill Wai-Lee."

"To what end? Will the knowledge bring you some kind of comfort?"

"I need to know," she insisted.

"I see," he wandered back to the foot of the bed again. "Of all the examples I gave you, mere moments ago, you choose to focus on the act you believe holds the greater sin. I don't deny I intended to kill her. I had the boys bring her here and lock her in the whores' room. She was the source of the infection and, from everything Doc was telling me, would be the orchestrator of your demise. And I would have killed her too, my knife was at her throat..." he gestured with his hands. "And yet, upon her confession of impending motherhood, I found that I could not fulfil the task. And so I released her back to her people. No doubt in months to come we will see her in Chinamens' Alley, a fat, Chink baby swaddled close to her breast." He watched as she closed her eyes again. "Knowing that another bears a child when ours is gone brings me as much agony as it does you."

Catherine opened her eyes again, a lone tear escaping from one corner. "She wasn't to blame."

"No? It was her water that infected you."

"And how was she to know it was infected? How would she know that she wasn't helping me that day she allowed me to drink it? Do you believe it was her intention to deliberately harm me?"

"Of course not..."

"And yet, had I died, you would have murdered her!"

"Your self-righteousness fucking amazes me!" Al exclaimed. "Your only part in the whole sorry affair was to lie helpless in bed while the rest of us dealt with the consequences and yet now you judge as if on high!" He shook his head. "I apologise if the truth offends you, Catherine, and I'll ensure the next time your life hangs in the fucking balance I let it tip the other fucking way!"

"Al..."

"Actions done were borne out of feelings that I am coming to wish more and more I had never allowed free rein. More often than not I long for the days when we slept apart, our conversation was limited to the wellbeing of the whores and you meant no more to me than the average cunt in the camp!" He threw open the office door, unwilling to look at her a moment longer, stormed along the balcony and down the stairs into the bar.

"Something got you piqued, boss?" Dan asked as he thundered his arrival.

Al downed the glass of whisky that was waiting for him, fury coursing through him. How dare she awaken and automatically accuse him of wrongdoing? She, who had no fucking idea what his thoughts had been, what decisions he had faced and what questions he had asked himself.

"You looking like you might want to take your blade to someone," Dan continued in a poor attempt at wit.

Al glared at him. "Fucking cunt was more appealing when she was fucking dying."

XXXX

As the evening sounds from the bar grew quieter and the traffic on the thoroughfare was limited to the occasional single horse or drunken laugh, Catherine waited for Al to return to their bed. She hadn't slept since he had flounced out of the room earlier and found herself replaying his words over and over in her head. Her conclusion was that perhaps her recriminations had been somewhat without foundation. She could well remember the agonising hours after she had accidentally stabbed him those months ago and the feelings of guilt and helplessness. Had there been another to blame, wouldn't she too have wanted to exact revenge? If Claggett had been the culprit, would she not have slit his throat or at least welcomed the action done by another?

Perhaps...perhaps it was the fact that Wai-Lee was a woman that the thought of Al raising his hand, or weapon, to her made her stomach turn over. Not that she hadn't witnessed it in the past, indeed been the unintended target of such. But since their marriage she had come to hope that side of him had been irrevocably changed. His admissions to her proved, however, it still lurked under the surface.

What felt like hours later, she heard the office door open and he appeared again at the foot of the bed, his features drawn. "Should I sleep elsewhere?" he asked.

"No," she replied. Silently, he began to undress and she watched him, waiting for the right moment to attempt to reconcile. "I..."

When she didn't continue, he turned to face her. "You got more words for me?"

"Not...not words in the same vein," she replied, plucking at the blanket across her legs. "An apology. An understanding. I would not wish...I would not wish us to return to our previous relationship, even if you would. I find the idea of how it was between us..." she trailed off, unsure she could even articulate it. "I simply find myself..." she sighed. "I find myself afraid that if you could find it within you to murder a woman for sharing some water...that perhaps, someday, I might also incur such wrath and that perhaps you might...ridiculous as I know it sounds..."

"Jesus fucking Christ..." he stared at her. "That's your idea of a fucking apology? A fucking understanding? Revealing to me your fear that I might, one day, put a blade to your throat for an indiscretion?"

"Your hand around my throat once was enough," she said before she could stop herself.

His face hardened and she instantly regretted her words. "And had I squeezed the life out of you then, we might all have been spared the consequences that followed." Pulling his clothes back on, he lifted the half empty whisky bottle he had left beside the bed and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" she cried.

"There are others I might sleep beside without the fear of recrimination," he replied before leaving and slamming the door behind him.

July 3rd 1876

"Al's in a fucking bad mood," Jewel relayed the following morning as she brought Catherine some breakfast. "He's been shouting at me all fucking morning about my leg. And it ain't half as bad as it used to be since I got my boot from the doc."

Catherine didn't want to admit that she had heard Al's morning wrath. Perhaps the whole camp had. "I reckon that's my fault," she admitted as the tray was placed on the bed in front of her and she contemplated the bacon and eggs the other woman had made. "I riled him up some last night."

"S'pose it's good to have him back to fucking normal again."

"In what sense?"

"When he's fucking shouting, it means things is ok again. It's when he's quiet that it don't feel right."

Catherine looked at her. "Was he quiet a lot? Before, I mean."

"Sometimes. Mostly when he was sitting with you." Jewel made her way back to the bedroom door. "I'm sorry about the baby," she added, her face twisted into a look filled with pity.

Catherine smiled sadly, "Me too." When the other woman had gone, she devoured the breakfast and then thought about getting up from the bed. She felt more energised than she had done of late and lying around in a bed that her husband no longer wished to share with her only served to increase her melancholy. She was halfway across the room towards the dresser when the door opened and Doc appeared before her.

"What in God's name are you doing?" he demanded upon seeing her.

"Making use of myself," she replied.

"You should still be resting," he said, putting his bag on the floor and taking her arm. "It's only been a few days since your recovery and you ain't well enough yet to be gallivanting about like a mule."

"I ain't gallivanting," she protested, "but I can't lie in that bed any longer."

"You need at least a week's bed rest and you've only had a few days!"

"I've been in bed for days as it is! Please Doc...I'm going to lose my mind if I have to lie there any longer." She refrained from mentioning that it wouldn't be boredom that did for her, but the sadness and anxiety of her situation.

He sighed and shook his head, "Ain't like I can chain you to the bed. But you should let me get one of the girls to help you dress at least."

"I don't need them to." He said nothing as she lifted her hairbrush and slowly began untangled the knots that days of sedition had caused. "I bled last night," she said, almost ashamed of the revelation. It had been a mild staining, reminiscent of the monthly bleed that she hadn't encountered for so long.

"That's normal," Doc replied unperturbed.

"I wanted to ask you...I mean..."

"Ask me what?"

"If I were to...I mean...if fortune favoured me with...with another child..." she paused. "Would I...I mean..."

"There is nothing that I can find that would prevent you from bearing a healthy child in the future, Catherine," Doc reassured her.

"I see..." she lowered her eyes.

"Was that not the answer you were hoping for?"

"No... I mean, yes of course."

"You need to give your body time to heal. You've been through the mill these last few weeks. You need rest and quiet and if you ain't getting that from Al I'll tell him he needs to give you it, no arguments."

"No," she said hurriedly. "Don't say anything to Al. Things are...well..."

"You had that talk?" She nodded. "He needs time to heal and readjust too. He had resigned himself to the fact that you would never awaken again."

Catherine nodded, fighting the lump in her throat. "And now he wishes I hadn't."

XXXX

The sight of Catherine, an hour or so later, coming slowly down the stairs towards the bar filled Al with horror. He watched as each step was made with careful precision, her hand gripping the banister for support and his natural instinct was to march over, sweep her up into his arms and return her to her bed, where she clearly needed to be. Pride stopped him, however. Her words still stung and though his concern for her wellbeing was great, his anger remained.

Upon seeing him, she made her way over towards him and leaned against the bar. "Did you find a more amiable companion to sleep beside last night?" she asked, her voice low so that others wouldn't hear her words.

Al looked at her. "You would disapprove?"

"Of course I would fucking disapprove!" she snapped. "You may have taken the tone of my earlier questioning to suggest recrimination for your actions and perhaps I would accept that you would be correct..."

"A surprising admission."

"But that does not mean that I would accept or...or condone your seeking comfort elsewhere. I took my vows to you seriously, regardless of your own feelings on the subject." She paused while Dolly passed with a customer. "I have no wish to alter our arrangement, one which I, at any rate, have come to find great pleasure in."

"Other than when my hand is around your throat?" his voice dripped with sarcasm, unwilling to allow her an easy passage back into his good graces.

Catherine looked away. "You cannot deny that you laid hands on me..."

"I don't seek to. Nor do I seek to deny my intentions towards the Chink which you have found yourself so determined to hold me to account for." He uncorked a fresh bottle and poured the contents into a glass, downing it quickly in one.

"Perhaps I did not give enough credence to your feelings," she admitted. "I know you care for me, but perhaps I had not considered how my anticipated passing would affect you. That being said, it does not equate with you seeking comfort in the mouth of a whore..."

"As I did not do," Al interrupted her, slamming the glass back down on the bar. "If truth must be given then I suggest you make inquiry with Dan, who will tell you I slept uncomfortably in a chair in this very bar." He nodded upon her look of surprise. "You appear to consider my motives and feelings to be liable to frequent change. I assure you, they do not." He stepped closer to her. "If you expect apology for my dealings with the Chink, you will be left wanting. I make none for actions done out of desperate anger and, yes I shall admit it, fear. A life for a life, as I considered yours to be over. Yet you fail to bestow credit for my retreat from my chosen path even before I knew you would return to us."

"I'm sorry..."

"And as for partaking of my right to fuck whomever I may choose in this joint, given my previous character and predilections, the fact I chose to forgo that should commend me to you." She looked away. "Now I don't want to fucking speak of this again, am I understood?"

Catherine nodded, "Yes."

"Good," he said, pushing the bottle towards her. "Here. You look like you could use a fucking drink."

XXXX

"How is she?" Doc asked, when he returned to the Gem that evening.

"She sat at that table for a good hour conversing with the customers before retiring back to bed," Al replied. "For a woman so near death but a few days ago, I'd wager her condition is good."

"I'm pleased."

"As am I."

"What of her spirits?"

"She seems more than capable of inciting argument therefore I would conclude her spirits are returned," Al downed another glass of whisky.

"Good," Doc said, "I was concerned at her earlier melancholy, despite the state being natural in her circumstances. She asked me about another child and I wanted to convey to you the same advice I gave her. Which is, I see no reason for a healthy, full term pregnancy to be possible in the future."

Al froze on his friend's words. Another child? So soon after the loss of the previous? He had only begun to take on board the realisation of what fatherhood would mean when it was snatched away. And, if he were being honest with himself, had Catherine been without child in the first place, there would have been no need for the Chink's water and, therefore no cholera. The thought of being responsible for another, potentially similar, situation filled him with dread.

"I doubt there will be any other pregnancies, Doc," he opined casually, pouring another drink.

"Catherine is generally a very healthy young woman..."

"There ain't going to be any other pregnancies," Al interrupted, fixing his gaze on his friend. "Take my meaning and let's speak no more about it."

Doc paused for a moment. "Al...if you have concerns..."

"Have a drink, Doc. Have a fuck on the house if you feel so inclined and returned tomorrow to check over the whores and ensure Catherine's physical health continues to improve. But any more talk like this, and you and I will quarrel."

He was saved from further conversation by E.B coming into the hotel, looking furtively around and then hurrying over to him.

"I met the man, Al. I even spoke to him!"

"I wouldn't have thought any less given that you're now, technically, in his employ," Al said, steering him away from Doc, relieved at the distraction. "What topics did your conversation with Mr Hearst alight upon?"

"He asked about the camp and about the claims. I think he was particularly interested in Mrs Ellsworth's claim, but I did not divulge any information about it to him." E.B looked proud of himself. "I was a wall of silence."

"I'm sure you fucking were," Al replied wryly. "Did he give you any indication as to his plans?"

"None that I could glean. He seemed very eager for me to leave him to settle into his room."

"Well done, E.B," Al congratulated him. "Let's give him time to settle in before we consider what moves we might have to make."

XXXX

Catherine was just about to slip her chemise over her head, when the door opened and Al came into the room. She paused, mid action, and couldn't help but notice how his eyes flickered over her naked body. She waited, wondering if he intended to approach her, but he stayed where he was, one hand on the door handle as though for support, and she swiftly completed her action. Only when the garment safely concealed her body did he step fully inside and close the door behind him. He moved over to his desk, withdrew a bottle from the drawer and poured two glasses. She padded over to join him and they drank in silence.

"What did you say to Daddy?" she asked suddenly. He looked at her questioningly. "When you visited his grave?"

"I asked him not to revisit my sins upon you," Al replied. "I asked him to overlook the dubiety of our union and spare you. Perhaps for once in his fucking life he listened to me."

She smiled. "Perhaps. Though I understood you didn't believe in talking to the dead."

"Only when the situation warrants it."

She lowered her eyes. "Al...I am sorry..."

"I said we wouldn't discuss it further," he reminded her quietly, but firmly.

She nodded and then moved around the desk to stand in front of him, so close that he could almost feel her skin quivering against his. He felt a mixture of emotions. Obvious arousal at her closeness, anger at her earlier words...and guilt. He said nothing, until she moved closer into him and placed her hands on his chest.

He moved back from her, finding himself disconcerted by her touch. "Camp business commands my attention. Hearst," he gestured towards the balcony, "is now installed in the hotel having made purchase of it from E.B. Question remains as to his intentions in camp."

"You think his purpose nefarious?"

"Who fucking knows?" He coughed as he caught sight of her nipples, darkly outlined beneath the thin fabric. "You should take yourself to bed. Ain't good for you to endure too much excitement in your first few hours back on your feet."

"I will," Catherine replied. "Will you join me later?"

"Business may take some time. You may already be asleep by the hour it concludes..."

"I'll wait for you," she said, her voice rich with temptation, her eyes full of reconciliation.

Al backed away from her towards the door, "Camp business," he repeated. On her understanding smile, he turned and made his out of the office, down the stairs, through the bar and out the main door, breathing in the humid night air. That he had a hard on was undeniable. That he intended doing anything about it was unthinkable. He glanced up at the balcony doors, closed over, the curtains drawn.

One thing he knew for sure, their relationship would never, could never, be the same again.

THE END


End file.
